Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Green and yellow buses

With bloodshot eyes
he rubbed wildly against
the shoulders of an old lady
with a hollow cough
bend with age
Oblivious of me and the crowd
collected together into a sweaty mass
in those green and yellow buses
with a uniform thought of reaching a warm home

I smirked, I stared
He went on his singular mission
suppressing his animal grunts.
The bus screeched to a stop
A bunch of fragrant white flowers
Undone from the lady’s coiled grey bun
Lie trampled by innumerable feet
He broke into a lazy smile
Watching the world
Through a dirty panel of glass
Streaked with vomit
And ancient spat of betel nut juice
Extracted by tired mechanical jaws

I took home
A repulsive feeling of disgust
And bathe for an hour
Willing the crystal water
To cleanse those dirty window panes.

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