Bus Stop Poem by Debasish Verma

I was standing for quite some time
At the end of a long que under steel shed,
Looking at my watch frequently
Waiting for bus number nine.

I was getting impatient, feeling awfully restless.
Sky was laden with the clouds of droplets
quoted with the dust of modern concepts.
I don't know when drizzling started

When people rushed under the shed,
I was waiting as the bus was late.
For a while I got transported back,
Remembered the days when I use to run

To catch the yellow bus for school,
With my leather bag, bottle of water
and the pencil box squeezed carefully
in the crowd of books.
Nothing use to bother me at that time

No doubt, no dreams,
No fear, No failures,
No rejection, No acceptance.
My bag is laden with laptop,

pen drive and mobile, and a few prescriptions, and a office file,
A small notepad and spectacle to read minute lines,
I can't expect much today, can't rewind those days
The wind carrying the same old scent of wet soil

Was flowing through the bus stop
That clenched me tightly and tried to bail out
from the agony of apprehensions
and fungus of chronic exasperation
Before the bus whisked me away to my destination.