Always as I ride with pubic transport ( especially, if trip lasts more than half an hour), I like to observe people. Watching them is like to be able see their lives and make me own stories about them. Really often enough exchange simple glances to make my day good or to make me smile. Sometimes it’s opposite. And that is how born a poem which I named – ride with a bus.
Autumn rain falls down.
Your hands are warm.
A coat made of fox skin.
Your heart is cold.
Colorful maple leaves.
But they bring sadness.
Naked tree branches
Give a little bit of passion.
Riding on a bus.
Everyone looks at each other.
Someone is searching for a lover.
Someone is crying for a lost one.
Egle Ku 