The neon signs are ghosts within the white,
As morning struggles with the fading night.
The GEC circle is a dream tonight,
Wrapped in a veil of soft and milky light.
The rickshaws emerge like shadows from the deep,
While half the city is still lost in sleep.
The flyover is a bridge to nowhere tall,
Vanishing behind the misty wall.
No honking horns, no rush of busy feet,
Just silence drifting down the empty street.
The air is damp and clings to every face,
A slow-motion scene in a frantic place.
At Two Number Gate, the world has gone away,
Lost in a blanket of a quiet gray.
It's a mystery only the early know,
When time itself begins to move so slow.
You cannot see the path a yard ahead,
So you must find your inner light instead.
The mist will burn when sun begins to rise,
But for an hour, heaven wears a disguise.