A bus Ride

A usual day inside a slum person's heart.

A crowded place like this usually smells stinky, sweat, friction of rubbing shirts and mud. The dampness of rain on the outside ground is touching my nostrils, swiftly. I am sitting, a rare thing , so to say. I see droplets sliding and being replaced by the next, again and again. It is too silent for a noisy day here.  I sit holding my bag, my possession. My wife has not been well for a few days. I wanted to stay at home, to make her feel better, to sit beside her and to feed her meals. She loves when I cook her chicken soup. I saved a few rupees to buy chicken for us. I am eagerly waiting for her to swallow the first sip and smile, her smile is the best appreciation. I would show you, if I could. The bus finally stops at my stop. Clutching my office bag, residing inside of which my best present possession , I stepped out of the bus. Splash. Spish.

Rain  looks good only until you have a roof to adore it. 

I am now looking at the kids, watching rain from their windows, eyes filled with forged hopes. To imagine my home, you will have to start pitying me. You can not imagine it without feeling bad for me. But I am satisfied. That is what I say to make peace within myself. 

A drenched shirt sticking on my body like my second skin, I think they can see my body. I wish I had worn a T-shirt, at least it would not make me feel like this. 

I feel like everyone can see right through me, as if they know me. 

This walk seems more uncomfortable than I thought. My wife says the rain makes everything tragic, how absurd. I am just looking forward to cooking tonight. Her smile, the thought makes me want to run. 

There is my house, you cannot see how I see it. You will see an undone pile of bushes, a shattered glass of window and a broken roof. But I see the gate which I enter daily, which I leave daily, which is the comfort of the world for me. The house which gets warm and protects me from everything, which has the most precious part of my heart, my wife. I entered the house , I was aware of how my wife wasn't well. I was expecting her to  be sleeping and indeed she was. But what I didn't expect was the rain lashing right on her body. I looked up to find an explanation, a broken roof. I was terrified, what an ugly day for it to rain. I reached to touch my favorite face in the world and for some reason the eyes didn't flutter at all. Her beautiful face was somehow pale, cold and far. She was too far in my lap to reach. My already wet body couldn't feel anything foreign from her now drenched state. I am sitting there wondering about everything, my walk home, my selfish thoughts. I wanted her smile to make me go ahead. I am just sitting here with her and suddenly a thought clicks me. I do not even have money to buy her a white cerement, I never thought of buying a white drape. I think you should plan these things. Plan and buy. How crass of me to not spend money carefully? How could  I buy her some chicken and not a wrap to cover her corpse. How selfish of me. 

Reviews

[Breezy]

A sad piece but a lovely one. Well done

[Kate E Watson]

This piece is beautifully written; I thoroughly enjoyed it. Although, I would include more varied sentence starters, for example, Absentmindedly, Shockingly etc. Still a wonderful poem. :)