The red earth coloured Bus
Thanjavur Kavi Rayar
Kalki, 25th January, 2009
The village bus goes,
Is of the colour of the red earth.
Like the life of the villagers,
It is a broken and full of holes.
The driver is as aged as the bus,
And drives it with no urgency,
Towards the world which is fast and urgent,
The conductor does not shave,
For possibly that face is Ok for the villagers.
The women with blowing hair,
With no touch of oil,
And their legs tinged by the red earth,
Which makes it look like the red hibiscus,
And the men with unkempt hair,
Get in to the bus below a tree,
and get out of it below another tree.
In the market street of the village,
without bothering about the red dust,
Created by the starting of the Bus,
The tailor anxiously looks up,
With a hope that the customer,
Who has not paid his bill?
Would at least come in the next bus.
With a thatched roof,
With outside walls pasted by the poster,
Of the new print of an age old cinema,
Is the shop busying with make up of the hair.
With knife in the hand, the barber waves,
\Bye to the conductor of the bus.
The red earth coloured bus,
Goes in between the trees,
As if it is another being of the village.