Saturday, December 31, 2016


In retrospect,
I figure that hitherto,
buses and bus stops have been
featuring consistently in my life.
Rickety public buses and
busy bus stops
keep flitting, in and out,
in chapters of my life,
like a recurrent background theme.
My journeys,
the exciting ones homebound
and the silent, somber ones
taking me away to
whatever being my passing engagement.
Transient travelling.
Waiting. Boarding. Getting off.
Jammed roads. Twisted streets.
Jerky rhythms. Swirling bodies.
Shoving and pushing.
Squeezing in tight spaces.
Close stinking confines.
Unfamiliar companions.
The entire cycle.
Monotonous. Lackluster. Drab.
Glimpses of life, blurred,
as I shuttle around.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers


  1. Very atmospheric, and obviously written by a home-body!

  2. I ride the shuttle most days, it is great fun just like your tale.

  3. It's fun to see that you made a poem rather than a story from this prompt. Well done!


Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.