Off ease!

I am a stranger,
to this place- the strangest,
amidst a mist,
of an irrational rationale,
and unaddressed aims,
of these well-dressed souls,
who are homeless,
though not house-less.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.



They run a race,
for no place,
as its against the time,
and the time one takes,
is what the time takes.
There they go,
runnin' way into the future,
shunnin' away from the present.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.



They run miles,
tossing false smiles,
and stupid tepid wishes,
The reasonless yet relentless
retention of pretention.
There they go,
runnin' to be someone,
shunnin' away from themselves.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.



They run down,
draining their lives,
honing their knives,
and when they hang-up the boots,
they won't have the fruits.
There they go,
runnin' hard to earn a life,
shunnin' away from the one they have.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.



This is so bad.
I am going mad.
Not a moment I can stay,
let me run far away.
I run to a station,
"Which one?" I ask one,
"Work-station!" he says,
seemed a familiar face,
"what about the place?",
"its your work place,
wake up sir", he said,
and offered the tea.
The time is just three,
'm not yet free to flee.