P.O.V. (undone)

Inside a public transit,
Or riding a bike,
A motorcyle, can be,
A cab,
Or a car not for hire,
As long as they are in mobile,
You see one common thing
In all of them.
All moving
To get into destinations.
In the point of view
Of a first person
I narrate this.
When sun seems
Deeply set
Perhaps, at eight
Post Meridiem,
While the captain’s eyes
Busy waiting
For green light
That’s good to go,
At the back
There sit back.
From the seat
A far see sparkles
Like sparkling lollipops
In varied colors.
Another one,
The overpass.
Or footbridge,
Howsoever they call it
notice it
Every time.
Then the captain, seemingly,
Is driving backwards
With my mind and soul
Agreeing with the route
Also going back.
Now, in different time
Some time in late noon
Atmosphere in early eve,
In bird’s eye view
Because standing 
In somewhere high
and another two eyes see
The fast moving train
Those places that the sight
Is capable to cover
And even those further extents
Those ‘somedays’
see them all with someone,
Part of I.
And then, oops, holla!
The captain in front seat 
Gave a break
So I was moved
But it does not matter
T’was just an insert
In this story tell.
To continue,
I paused for a moment
Aside from the present scene,
There plays an active voice

Not passive
But with hopes
Positive about living 
There, beside I.

 

 

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