A Bus To Maharagama

The power of silence is felt inside,

Disturbed by the children's laughter

Now and then.

A luxury bus with a weekly schedule

By the philanthropist living near the Mosque

In remembrance of his dear wife,

Carrying passengers to the home of Oncology

From the East to the West

On the highway of hopes and prayers

Through the beautiful landscapes of memories

Filled with tears of fears.

With fully-shaved heads and long haired-wigs,

Smiles blossom as forced responses,

Just to keep their off springs comforted.

Women and Men with strange secrets

In their breasts, bones, blood and wombs,

And elderly with untold penile and cervical fears,

Cry out a loud prayer in silence

Knowing their returning journey

Would not be the same;

Either a revelation or a betterment,

Another scanning or therapy

Awaits them at the beautiful Cancer Home

With hands and minds of concern and care.

The driver and the conductor,

Over the years, have become little experts,

Knowing the heartbeats of every soul inside.

From morning to evening

As they are parked at the bus stop,

Waiting to return,

They have learned to read every medical report

On the returning faces,

And welcome each soul

With a delicate and comforting smile.

Some return with a smile of improvement,

Some of them with faces of shattered lives,

And few of them tired

With the excruciating pain of the therapy.

The journeys continue

Week after week,

And the statistics of reality

Is felt in the silence

Of this beautiful moving little cage

That has a list of lost customers

Who no more travel.