5:30 am

Found this on my computer. Dont know when exactly and why I wrote it, but I like it, for some odd reason.
So here it is:

5:30 am
The clock synchronises inside with the dripping water outside,
Some voices murmur in the dark,
A lone rickshaw speeds of into the distance
and I go miles and centuries back and forth in my room ,
in the company of books.

It's strange this feeling,
of wakeful sleepiness.
There's a certain sense of urgency to stay awake,
Yet there's no pressing deadline.

It's just that.
The silence of the night,
the quiet scratch of pen on paper
and the hum of the refrigerator.