On the way

At dusk, amid the city's booming roar, The bus crawled slow — an old horse tired and poor. Stops, faces flashed — a restless, crowded gaze, And engine's hum that shook the evening haze. The half-empty cabin bore life's heavy load, Some napped alone, forgotten in their road, Some glued to screens with fingers tightly bound, While others gazed afar — lost, dream unbound. Behind the glass, the streetlamps start to gleam, Painting shadows on the walls of slumbering dreams. Within the bus, each holds a tale untold, Of passengers in silence, young and old. The bus driver grumbles, tearing tickets with a sigh, A paper sound—like echoes of a day gone by. A silent dreamer softly sings a tune, Of something bright, eternal, and immune. Upon the final row, it would appear, An elder with his paper, lost in cheer. He dreams of youth, of days when life was clear, While bus moves onward, banishing all fear. This journey mirrors all our lives entwined, Where stops become the milestones left behind. Within this bus, our hopes and faiths we find, If in the rush, we pause to be kind.