My Bus Ride Home to Stay
Beneath a sky of fading gold,
Where twilight weaves its quiet spell,
I board the bus, both young and old
Seem folded in its rhythmic knell.
The doors hiss shut with practiced sigh,
A breath released from city strain.
No longer asking where or why—
I ride home, not just again.
The streetlights bloom like constellations,
Guiding wheels through time-worn lanes.
Each passing pole, each blinking station,
Unstitches loss, recalls old pains.
But now the ache has gentler edges,
A tender bruise, no longer raw.
For in these worn, familiar sedge is
The peace I once refused to draw.
No suitcase dreams or overnight stays,
No ticking clock to mark my flight—
This time it's not an echoed phrase,
But roots reclaimed from drifting light.
The mother with her sleeping child,
The student lost in book and thought—
We’re all returning, worn and mild,
To places our true selves have sought.
And as the bridge curves, low and wide,
The river gleams with amber streaks.
It mirrors all I’ve pushed aside—
The love, the grief, the words I’d speak.
Now every bump, each slowing brake,
Whispers: You need not flee again.
The road ahead no longer takes—
It leads you where you’ve always been.
So let the engine hum its hymn,
The world dissolve in shaded gray.
This ride is more than transport, dim—
It's home's first breath at end of day.
I step down where the old gate stands,
Unlocked. The garden breathes my name.
No longer drifting, shifting sands—
I come at last. I come. I stay.
-
Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: January 2nd, 2026 05:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: soheil khodaparasti, Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange, Soman Ragavan
Offline)
Comments3
I appreciate your conscious use of the bus not merely as a means of transportation, but as a vessel for reflection—carrying both the literal and emotional weight of the journey home. The poem beautifully balances nostalgia with acceptance: old pains are revisited yet gently softened. The theme of home as a reclamation of the self is especially moving.
Thank you, Soheil. I appreciate you stopping by and reading my poem and your kind words. You saw what I was writing.
Friendship, this is a poem about choosing home as an act of courage. You let the ordinary do the work…streetlights, passengers, brakes, gates. By the end, staying feels like grace rather than surrender. A beautiful, grounding piece. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you, Tristan. I appreciate you stopping by and reading my poem and your kind words. You understood my poem; you saw the heart of my poem.❤️
Yay!!! That makes me happy my friend. And you are most welcome. I am a fan! 🌹
Good write F. I'm sure I saw that passenger on the bus the other day. lol.
You always make my day. Thank you,orchidee. I appreciate you stopping by and reading my poem
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