Bus Stop

At the bus stop
I wait
Boring.
I look around and see
A woman haggling with a vendor
A boy walking barefoot, begging for alms
A suited man probably going to work.
I look at the ground
Rub my shoe against the asphalt
Feeling the rubber scraping beneath my feet
I hear the din of voices
The roar of engines and shuffled steps
Too noisy for my liking.
I look up
Above the gray smoke and fish-blood sewers
See the clouds floating in the sky
This sky is like my home’s.
I begin to wonder
The humanity of the woman and vendor haggling
The destiny of the child begging
The quest of the man going
Where are they going?
To home, as I am?
I close my eyes
Breathe and hear neither the roar nor din of cacophony
But breathe and hear the memory of my home
The smell of its dew-damp soil
The silence of its solitude.
At the bus stop
I wait
I am no longer bored.
I am going home.

Posted by jian5 on May 17, 2009

https://o1iman.wordpress.com/2009/05/17/bus-stop/