First I walk, then I run, Another Late night spent among real
friends but soon enough early morning comes again. Hair brush, make up, purse
all stuffed into my bag, no time for breakfast or a quick TV fix. IPod on, ear
plugs in, door slammed behind.
I cannot break the habit. The bus is in sight; my shoe goes
flying behind me as I catch my step. Travelers
begin queuing to get there ticket and take turns paying the unshaven driver, underpaid, under appreciated.
we're all in the same boat.
Holding the shoe and purse in one hand and my unkempt shoulder bag I run to the driver, dragging in breathes,waving my crumpled ticket. Once again my Luck precedes me.
we're all in the same boat.
Holding the shoe and purse in one hand and my unkempt shoulder bag I run to the driver, dragging in breathes,waving my crumpled ticket. Once again my Luck precedes me.
The bus is packed, school kids, teenage mothers, old age
pensioners and buggies everywhere. One seat left for me, until the next stop, I
stand and an old man with a red and white knitted hat takes my place. Plugged
out of reality I go to my own place, a beauty amongst the sweaty arms holding
on for dear life to yellow painted poles placed in tedious places as the bus swerves
and shakes. We stop again; I look out the window and what do I see… no popcorn
popping just a man eating safety glass on the floor, I blink again, still
there. Punched in glass off an advert board at the bus stop, cigarette holes
burned into another, glass everywhere.
We are somewhere else now, A green pumpkin is rolling down the side of the road a man follows it, trying to grab at it, faithfully it continues to rolls down the road.
We are somewhere else now, A green pumpkin is rolling down the side of the road a man follows it, trying to grab at it, faithfully it continues to rolls down the road.
Another bus, another queue but it’s there and so am I too,
purse out, head phones off, wouldn’t it be nice… to be a red double Decker, but
business blue for a town that does not care. Less people sit upstairs, a
snoozing women on the left, a chubby bold man at the back, and a cowboy near
the front.
I take a place somewhere in the middle. So tired so bored, where’s my lunch? *sigh* what am I doing here...
I take a place somewhere in the middle. So tired so bored, where’s my lunch? *sigh* what am I doing here...
Who is this cowboy? Cowboy Boots, Cow boy Hat, Bolo, he’s
kitted up. Thick accent… Is he American?
A little portable
radio is strapped to his waist, Country music, what else. Foreigners are the
norm but this one is a character. I watch hypnotized by his lulling country
notes, from nowhere he pulls out a bulky white tube sock, he’s humming along
now. His wrinkled hand snakes its way to the bottom of the sock clasping the
bulk, stuck like a monkey trap, his other hand peels away the sock and a
treasure is revealed. I scour the bus, am I the only one seeing this, this is
real. His eyes sparkle with the reflection of a beautiful clear cut crystal
sitting in the grasp of his big boned hands. I remember to breathe once more.
The dull white sock resting on his lap gets swooped up and suddenly it becomes
a polishing cloth. Despite the tattered appearance of the sock it encourages
more light to hit its pure stunning face and beautify the dull space of the
cankering bus.
How can such beauty be found amongst such dull nothingness?
It can’t be true.
Can it?
Matthew 6:20-21
lay up for yourselves
treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where
thieves do not break through nor steal: