A red bus
red like blood
blood through the city's veins
covered with dust
packed with souls
weary
teary
on the same route
for years passed by
and years to come
sun running from one side to the other
and so the moon
it runs
gloomy
worth of a heart felt pity
with a twisted face
distressed
it runs
of helplessness
Like breathing it's last breath
it halts at Nigdi Chowk
and spits souls on the road.
then a moment of stillness
like death
and again starts the journey
up the route
different side of the divider