Monday, August 06, 2007

Bus Stand

I am stranded at a bus stand. It has yellow painted iron tools. I don't want to sit down. I am standing here looking for a bus. Or pretending I am. I know I will never get up on a bus. But I like this. Straining my eyes to see when a bus is coming. And then people darting forward. For that window seat. For that rod by the door. For that girl in blue. For the sake of years of darting forward...of dead habits.

People come and go. While I wait. I don't really. I pretend. I just like the feeling. Of waiting for the bus. Or pretending to wait for a bus. Or pretending to pretend to wait for a bus. I like specially that part when the bus whooshes past me. Leaves me standing. Waiting for another bus. Or thinking that I am. When I am not, really.

And while I stand here, I see all kinds of people. I am surprised most of them don't really like waiting for a bus. They are just here to get the bus. And I figure the buses don't care too much about people waiting for them either.

Some times it will rain for hours. And people take shelter here. All the time worrying about getting late for their parties, offices, dates, dentist's appointments. They hate waiting. And then when the sun comes out, the long road shines like a silver ribbon. It hurts to even look at it. Its beautiful. The road. The ribbon.


  1. totally get what ur sayin man. saw the clear blue sky today at bashdrhroni over the new monorail thingy thats happening.... rain washed skies. and blinding sunlight. and was happy. content. and what not. those rare moments come sometimes, not often. probably makes it so precious. and i want to stall time and just wait. and stay in waiting forever. u got it, dude.

  2. There might be others who miss buses at other bus stops. Some of the same buses, some different buses. But buses.

  3. Once upon a time,
    I came across a bus
    Who looked at me and cried
    "You're making such a fuss!

    You stupid, stupid boy
    You rant and prate and preach.
    It entertains me more,
    To hear my tyres screech.

    But some day, when I see
    You cross a lonely street
    I'll run you down, I swear.
    My god! It would be sweet!

    I'd hear your femur snap
    I'd hear your cranium crack
    I'll honk out loud with glee
    And rid you of your lack.

    As for the other tramps
    Who write tripe, just like you
    I'd go and hunt them out
    And run them over too."

  4. @ The Psycho guy: Man! I like the way you justify your existence.