So here I am waiting for the damn bus,
A perfect portrait depicting my life up to date.
And throughout the world people are creating such wonderful things,
But it appears wasting my time was to be my just fate.
Fine achievements there are by the great and the small,
In theatre and film that give pleasure to all.
A poet of wit writing a work so divine,
A mouthful of purity running through every line.
But at the side of the road I hear myself cuss,
‘For what have I achieved, I'm Just waiting for a Bus'.
For now as I speak, the composers in flight,
With a melody sublime in the notes that he writes.
And the Author gives birth to all character of men,
And ladies of style with the stroke of a pen.
But at the side of the road I hear myself cuss,
‘For what have I achieved, I'm Just waiting for a Bus'.
And when the Artist takes up their palette and knife,
The canvas is thrown into substance and life.
The Sculptors they hammer with a skill that is honed,
To unshackle the body from out of the stone.
So climb your tall Mountains and sail your wide Seas,
Put your feet on the Moon if you must.
For my diary will read at the end of the day,
‘I stood wasting my time, I was only waiting for a Bus'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you Mia, that means a lot.