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19/10/2009

Bitter Experience of Travelling In a Crowded Bus

This poem was written by me when I was in standard tenth (1996) as a homework.

One thing everybody hates,
Is to travel in a crowded bus with the same rates.

If you are not strong and the season going on is summer,
you face in the bus both physical and mental torture.

When anybody passes through the crowd, transferring to others his sweatyou can’t do anything but look at him irritated with hate.

If anyone steps on your foot or hurts your legs with his shoe
you shout but he doesn’t even look at you.

You are compressed from all sides like a nut in a nut-crusher; the buried wood would have become coal in this much of pressure.

At every bus stop, the crowd increases,
by seeing this all your heartbeat decreases.

The people on seats seem to be stuck with some glue;
you look at them just like a beggar would have looked at you.

After some time the bus stops,
where you usually drops.

You have to fight a battle you have never fought, as no one will take pain to let you go out.

The bus starts and you shout,
but nobody hears, certainly not.

After sometime the coachman hears and whistles to the bus to stop,
you push, you jostle, you stagger and you almost drop.

You step on some shoes and you hurt some legs
you walk as you would have after some pegs


You are now on the road after accomplishing mission impossible,
you look drained out, and you look very feeble.

You totter on the road as a beggar,
your body smells due to sweat as sour as vinegar.

Your main goal is now quarter a kilometre from you;
thinking to walk such a long distance, your face becomes yellow and blue,

You murmur while walking, ‘The coachman was as deaf as a post?
He couldn’t hear me, where was he lost?’

You decide not to travel on a crowded bus again,
but you break again and again the hope hopen.
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