Faces unknown, side by side;
Cooperating and mingling;
Looking for a better spot, and yet,
heading the same way.

Everyone becomes equal,
Everyone pays the same fare,
Everyone has a life,
Each as complex as the rest.

Every face is new,
Every mood different.
holding some mystery,
Each different,
None less or more.

A game of patience;
Waiting to reach the end of one path,
And the beginning of another.
A hurry to get up, and get down.

A bus, a metro, a train,
An auto and an aeroplane,
The modest pace of a tram,
The coziness of a shuttle van.

The stories in a public transport,
Are things I wouldn't wanna miss.

I shall never, for the life of me,
Stop traveling in public transport.
Without it, I wouldn't be me.

You can't safely have a cigarette outside of the bus terminal
without a couple of folk asking for one.
You can't safely have a cigarette in general.
But, if five of them have to last you a night and a sunrise,
you don't really mind turning down a few nameless hands.
Some of the bus drivers like to talk about football, weather;
others complain about management or the patrons;
a few don't say much at all, avoiding sympathy.
They're probably the smart ones.
They don't want to learn the sad stories in between stops.
I usually like to just sit in the back and ride out the best bumps.
The handrails jiggle and crash with every pothole.
-
The men who work at the metal scrap yard
usually get on in front of Debbie's Diner on 22nd street.
Bundled up for warmth and firm of face, they only speak to each other.
Small talk about who almost missed the bus, broken crane joints,
and who moved the most barrels of copper piping fill the blocks.
They tend to pick on the guy who runs the aluminum can crusher;
big guy, they call him "Boose" and he couldn't be much older than I am.
His hands and lips are dry and cracked from exposure,
but his face still shows ember of teenage years, though jilted.
There is a bar that serves three-dollar chili across the street, spicy.
The workers go there when they miss the first bus, have a beer,
down a bowl of boiling chili, and catch the return bus in better moods.
-
The railroads on Brush College road tend to hold up traffic.
The ADM plant doesn't really mind if a few twenty-something mothers
are late to their practical nursing and phlebotomy classes,
but they voice their complaints out of a cracked window to the side
of a ten story soybean silo nonetheless; steaming ears and all.
I stare at the graffiti on the laggard train cars, each unique
in color, quality, style, and message; the industrial Louvre.
These waits sometimes last a half hour or more.
In the days before Pell grant rewards come in,
when students still feel like they're working toward tangible cash,
the seats are all packed with heavy breathers.
The air becomes thick with community college carbon coughs.

At fourteen, I didn't deserve to be in this way of being. Eyebags 4 years young and a newly broken heart, stubborn for loving the wrong person over and over. That is one of the stories I have under the crease on my face I'll have when I'm 93 and dying. If only I lasted till then for my smoke filled lungs are turning old and my throat is constantly burning. The etching thought of you still in my head none of which anything could take away but thank god for dying into new at 14 because now I don't love you as much as I did and maybe this is God's way of saying I'll be okay. But what do I know about all these *******,I'm 14 anyways

The hum
Of the engine
Steals my music
And forms a beat
Swirling in my mind
Like coffee, I am awake
But the hum makes me sleep.
Huuuuuummmmmmmmmmm

Yesterday night I was there on a bus.
Road was jammed and was a muss.
Bus was empty, travelers were few.
Amidst the jam it crawled through.

Soon I got curious about two old chaps;
Sitting on seats marked 'for handicaps'.
They were different from common folk.
Without making any sound they spoke.

To talk some sign language they used.
I didn't understand and was confused.
Different ****** expression they made.
Lips and hands moved, heads swayed.

With hand they wrote on other's hand.
They savvied but I didn't understand.
On the next stoppage halted the bus.
Holding each other both left without fuss.

I looked but my vision came to a naught;
Mind got occupied with their thought.
Many languages recognized and known.
But their language had beauty of its own.

No, I am not fighting back any remorse
It's my soul he needs to hunt
before I collapse on the floor

She is not damaged
just a little hurt
I could live with her on any planet
or under a curse.

I can send him on a quest
to unravel my soul.
For years, I can watch his green eyes
turn to gold.
I don't sense anything sinister
Maybe for once, I can unsheathe myself
to this patient listener

Stars are strung through my soul
as I try to keep myself in the corner of my eye.
This bus maybe going downtown
but I couldn't feel any closer to heaven

Look me in the eye, won't you?
Or just give me a faint smile
Let me discover all of you
even if it takes me a lifetime
In this bus, I see only the two of us
Inch your hand closer to mine
I promise I am not a Succubus
Let me take off this veil
from my heart.
Hold it. It was beating for you anyway
If you're my true love;
we shall never part
You're no angel yet I can see your halo.
We are not trapped in the dark.
Together,we can chase rainbows.

Now that we have our hands intertwined
could the same be done for our hearts?
Believe me, it won't disturb the Ma'at.
Just two hearts beating together
connected by the truth's feather
just stay there, let green meld into brown
let me turn that frown upside down

I wait for when a second outweighs the day,
so that we'll have the wishes we hoped we may
Like dancing in the rain with fiery hearts
that connect be put out,or torn apart
An unbridled joy that forever interlocks
the fibres of our souls, as we forget of clocks.

Seeing him sit across me wasn't awkward
In this life we all moved forward
He was protected by the mist no one saw through
won't talk to him
it will only add fire to the fuel.
His eyes were the green pools of curiosity,
under the ocean, trapped in weeds.

She won't seem to make eye contact...
Won't allow brown and green meld,
if only for a second.
Green and brown...
Like summer leading into autumn;
my soul flowing into hers.
I can feel it, or atleast
imagine it.

He's looking at me,
but why?
I'd like to look back,but
these ghostly inhibitions
keep me from wandering.
Too many memories
barring my imagination

I can sense some anguish
emanating from her soul;
a lack of control.
Pains aplenty? Scars,surreal?
Just what is this discomfort I feel?
I can see battlefields in her eyes--
Maybe...talking,I could try?

Carry yourself to the farthest ocean
for I cannot bear your soul so close to mine
so that we may never see the same stars,
I'd wish you close, only to walk away
Heaven, send me an angel
to quell my demons
come crashing down
I shall look back with eyes filled with tears
won't open myself to show my fears*

Her everything is exactly what I need
to pull myself away from these depths I'm drowning.
Her hands could be my wings,
and I could fly to cleaner heights,
were we are perched upon brighter horizons