(I used to travel in a really crowded bus everyday to reach my college.
That gave me the inspiration for this poem. Quiet ironically the bus was
called heaven)
Cold breeze tickled my nose,
As I stood there waiting for heaven.
Eyes planted on that misty lane,
Coins still wet and clutched.
There it creaked to my front
And ceased.
Its door ever opened and calling,
I plunged into with a deep breath.
Before I took a second
I heard the bell ring and
Fell, tricked by inertia
Praise Lord, I could grasp a hold
Blinded by headed walls,
I sensed the mind of
Sandwiched bread
My weight crushed from all sides.
Learning the ballet was never so fun,
Tip toeing to save my leg.
Pricked and pierced from all around
I felt amidst stingy bugs.
My inside turned upside down
As it cherished its favorite U-turn
And slithered to and fro
In rhythm to its motion.
Where on earth would you get this treat?
Eat hair and drink sweat.
But keyhole respiration
Is an art by itself.
I did envy those sitting souls,
Their seats worth the queen’s throne.
It struck, the freedom bell
And I packed my lungs a third.
Coming out in parts was sick,
But when that bit of proof was thrown
I felt the pleasure of seven births,
For the morning air couldn’t be sweeter.
This is so real... buses are so crowded you don't even get a small place to stand! Anyways the poem is really nice and kind of funny... Aditi
an indian poem....learning ballet was'nt so much fun...nice humor...beautiful narration..10
You knw what, you're the only poet that I've ever known who could take inspiration from a crowded bus & write such a humorous poem... Love it..! ! Keep up the good work.... ^_^
A wonderful Poem and written like a true Poet. You have communicated about your daily travel in such a few words, and so well you get the experience you are there! Nice choice of words and excellent rhythm. Wish our planners developed this aspect. 10+++ Sreedevi
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
''I did envy those sitting souls, Their sweats worth the queen’s throne. It struck, the freedom bell And I packed my lungs a third.'' nice poem.........