The Windowless Bus

We met on the bus travelling here But never arrived the same at our place.

In our moments of resolute pride The windows shattered from seeing better And a new view was fore-ever present In our making: a creation without barriers.

The driver of the bus turned around But the face was too distant to make out. Walking down past the passengers, Chit-chatting about the everyday things,

A hopefulness of directions possibility Came as the driver turned to look ahead.

Banging on the window, hoping to see The road ahead through the drivers eyes. The driver turned and I saw myself.

Awe stuck I turned again to speak to you

Of the surprise only to hear you

Living again amongst the everyday words.

You kindly welcomed me to my seat.

With that smile you brought me to speak. The words that came did not talk Of windows and drivers but of things.

The windows were back but open Half-hiding the world as it passed by.

As we descended from that bus I looked back again, I was driving again As the windowless bus disappeared.

I try to talk of what I have seen in words But few appear to travel to this place And understand the symbols before us.

As we walked along you spoke again.

You talked of the window-less bus and Of the the face you saw in the drivers face.

It was in that moment that I realised That being alone in the world of seeing Is a lonely place: I feel better now in sharing.