Sitting in the window seat of a crowded bus in Mumbai
Looking at the road, the cars, the taxis, the places
Spending time with myself, I took a pen and a paper
And decided to write something about that bus ride.
I could see faces, some with their bodies standing, some sitting
Looking here and there, trying to figure out something
Some talking, some singing, some thinking like me
And some wondering when will they get those filled seats.
Hundreds of shops coming by and going away
Some stay for a while, and leave when the bus moves again
Doctors, carpenters, electricians, car repairs
Looking at me, as if they have an endless tale to narrate.
The road, flooded with cars, bikes, trucks
With innumerous boards hanging in the middle of it
Carrying tons of load on its heart
Helping them to take their men to their destined destinations.
The beautiful path, that amazing breeze
The high towers, those waving waters in the seas
The sounds, the echoes, the lights, the thoughts
Were all but a part of that Bus Ride.
