Wandering

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.
Repeat.
The entire cycle.
Monotonous. Lackluster. Drab.
Glimpses of life, blurred,
as I shuttle around.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

With fondness

Ofttimes,
when I am buried
in files and work,
trying to grasp
the legalities and complexities
of service-rules,
I hear you,
calling out to me,
endearingly.
On occasions,
some of our conversations
replay and rewind,
fleshed out with
right expressions
and
exact timber of your voice.
So sincerely, tangibly, believably
here and now,
that the conception deceives me as well.
I smile, even dissolve in laughter.
All on my own.
Ridiculously. Recklessly.
Earlier colleagues used to trifle with me.
Or may be I would apologize.
Now they negate the episode.
Nowadays, even I am not sorry
for my little getaway.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Sorry