Not too far from my apartment, around the corner
There is a bus stop
From it depart three buses
One of them is the bus to the past.

Once, the bus was not so magical
In fact it vexed, a nuisance
Taking the good, muddling it up
Putting nothing in its place.

Then one hurried morning
In trouble, the bus came
And traced a golden path
‘God bless the silly bus line.’

It built a bridge
From here to there
From past to future
From me to you.

Now, in times not so enchanted
When magic fades, it’s the real things that remain
The bridge still stands
Indifferent to my pain

And I take it now
No longer a royal passenger
Looking out the window
By breadcrumbs of memories, tracing the golden line

And in an illusion I think
That if I were to alight on that same stop
Knock on your door
Then the journey to the past would be complete.

But I stay seated
And we pass our stop
A dreary road, dark clouds overhead
The wheels keep turning, on and on.

21.IX.2024