The station hums with stories breaking free,
I watch the drifting lives that cross this place—
Each stranger holds a small biography.
A woman taps her suitcase nervously,
A boy keeps tracing sunlight on his face;
The station hums with stories breaking free.
Two workers laugh in quiet company,
An old man folds his paper like a brace—
Each stranger holds a small biography.
A couple argues softly, urgently,
A runner dabs the sweat she can’t erase;
The station hums with stories breaking free.
A teen rehearses lines rehearsedly,
A tourist clutches maps to find his base—
Each stranger holds a small biography.
And as the buses churn in constantly,
Their engines blur the moments we embrace.
The station hums with stories breaking free;
Each stranger holds a small biography.