I race the sun and spheres
I ignore morning prayers,
Sometimes breakfast, and the bread-box,
Just for 110b, the one and only 110b.
Ay, but he is the Sphere of spheres,
His spurt of speed, unstoppable:
Beaten by the distance of one point five yards,
Forsaken by the Wheels of Speed,
I get on into the ‘other’ Bus
That makes the journey seem an Odyssey.
But I, unlike Ulysses, am left to weather
The hardship of a crowded bus,
Of pointed stilettos, and poking elbows.
The man at the rear end
Seems to find me interesting.
In him I seem to inspire dreams.
And when I dismount this over-burdened steed,
Another of the long haired and shrill voiced species
Will take my place, and entertain my co-passenger.
The end of my dupatta
Catches some bag’s zip.
I tug, I tug, remembering Draupadi,
My five fingers like the five Pandavas, are ineffectual.
The zip, like Dushyasan, doesn’t let go.
And I tug until I elbow
Someone next to me, and earn her glare,
Until Providence decides the moment of liberation.
A ticket to *** Arts takes me around the city
In all its drama, bustling like a stage
That no one stops to watch.
The signal never shows green
As the Bus begs to traverse the busy Carrefour,
But sometimes, Patience is rewarded.
To vent his anger, the Bus takes a sharp turn
At the Hope College Road, and like limp rubber
My spine bends, propelled forward by those behind me.....
Life’s one long battle, and mine commences
Every morning on the Bus.
The Bus is the purgatory.
Purged, I am thrown out of it,
And into the Hell that College is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.