The bus ride ride home

On the number 13 bus we go unlucky for some, I hear you say.
There's a young woman on the bus facing me in her wheelchair.
Her head nods side to side with a sparkle in her eyes and a smile of joy in her own little disco world.
Every now and then she screams out in fun!
She's having the time of her life as her carer stands by her side.
I look around at the faceless plastic dolls on their phones in their own virtual reality.
As I peer out the window of the dark world outside, in my fluorescent-lit bubble, the carer and the young woman are holding hands.
No words are said as time stands still for a moment of human love, caring and pure joy.
The moral of this is every moment is precious in time. So let yourself go with such joy.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A August morning

The heat!  I can fry an egg on a path in Turkey  On an August morning.  The warmth of a fire on a cold, bleak day; The feeling as I soak up Vitamin D.  The memory of the bath is soothing.  With a weeping willow all is joy.  I remember the colour of the everlasting sand.  On my finger a snowflake crystallises, Particles of mass shine down upon me.  A dry fire of ash.  Now life begins -  A path of ice is a faultless cover on a pond.  A Polar Bear wanders in starvation.  With a spring in my step I ride the globe of life.
Read more

The black bullet

A stream of consciousness  Within a bus divided by colour  An ethical mosiac of segregation The chains on the day of birth  a dirty shelter,hands beg for rice and water  We point to the window of hatred for their race  The Marshall fires the 100m sprint  One majority will win the track at the olympics  The rule of a horror film is dark in judgement  The hip hop rap of the dreadlocks  The dogs are fierce Guns and sirens  Doors are locked for the black are hunted  Red splattered blood drawn on the floor  A bitter injustice  They loot and riot in anger Protest as they march  Dear end to the photographs of the human punishment for the right of freedom
Read more

The key

The room is only dark If you never look forward past the emptiness And search for your light.  Within a journey maybe long To dig through the tunnel To reach the door. On that rollercoaster of life; Every small step is a goal. If you look back over your shoulder on the staircase, You've already come a long way. One's box is only limited by the size of the opening at the beginning and the challenge of the invisible walls we build piece by piece. In the flow of time, one's dreams are worth living.
Read more