Girl At A Bustop
Driving near Dharavee.
She was holding her life barely.
Clutching it so close, as if it was her only hope.
Made of fabric, plastic and polystyrene,
Her life was coloured black and green.
Wonder what she stuffed in it,
She was holding on as if it was hers for reel.
Perhaps it has her money
Perhaps it has her books
Perhaps it had her certificates
Or it had her change over clothes.
She clutched it tight, waiting for her last fight
Wanting to board a bus
To take her where she could free her guts
Go and do what it takes
To live for another day
And dream, of a tomorrow
Where life won't be a bag of straw.
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Comments about this poem (Girl At A Bustop by Hardik Vaidya )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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