The folded newspaper has peculiar smell,
The fresh air too cold for lungs,
The soft sun brings no smile,
Morning Prayers, there are none.
I see myself ready for school
with shining shoes and nails clipped
An ironed uniform on limp shoulders
with bag full of lessons learnt.
This torturous time will meet its end
when i start my very own life.
My childhood thinks and curses,
the wretched bus, never failing to arrive
I want to tell him,
How, it does unfold
But I stop myself and hold.
I can't invade little dreams,
I can't tear the drawing notebook,
with geometrical mountains and hut.
Letting Life happen , I goodbye myself,
On the wretched, rickety bus