This a poem I wrote some years  back.
 I used to travel in a really crowded bus everyday to reach my college. 
That gave me the inspiration for this poem. Quiet ironically the bus was 
called heaven.

Cold breeze tickled my nose, 
As I stood there waiting for heaven. 
Eyes planted on that misty lane, 
Coins still wet and clutched. 

There it creaked to my front 
And ceased. 
Its door ever opened and calling, 
I plunged into with a deep breath. 

Before I took a second 
I heard the bell ring and 
Fell, tricked by inertia 
Praise Lord, I could grasp a hold 

Blinded by headed walls, 
I sensed the mind of 
Sandwiched bread 
My weight crushed from all sides. 

Learning the ballet was never so fun, 
Tip toeing to save my leg. 
Pricked and pierced from all around 
I felt amidst stingy bugs. 

My inside turned upside down 
As it cherished its favorite U-turn 
And slithered to and fro 
In rhythm to its motion. 

Where on earth would you get this treat? 
Eat hair and drink sweat. 
But keyhole respiration 
Is an art by itself. 

I did envy those sitting souls, 
Their seats worth the queen’s throne. 
It struck, the freedom bell 
And I packed my lungs a third. 

Coming out in parts was sick, 
But when that bit of proof was thrown 
I felt the pleasure of seven births, 
For the morning air couldn’t be sweeter.

14 APR 2017 AT 22:40