Above engine's rumble, its
Gurgling at stops, and a manly
Radio DJ peeping from the pocket
Of the Indian beside me, conjecturing
Commentary, two Malay ladies
In pink headdresses open at
Each other across a narrow stream
Of undulating passengers,
Fires of thoughts my boxed life
Denies ignition, yet sisterly
Intimacy shimmers like the high
Sun silently smashing cold bus window.
P.S.: Having a frustrating and trying time connecting to Internet at the library.
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