We were packed.
Our hip bones kissed,
And shoulders fought.
But we remained focused,
Without purpose, without remorse.

We complained to the unknown.
Our problems united us in a jiffy,
But were separated by our destinies.

We were tossed by the road,
From right to left, then left to sweat.
Our conversation had no end,
But the voices remained in the trotro.

Others joined, but our pain remained:
Cries of babies, shouts of mates,
Self-acclaimed big men at the front seat
With the indifferent at the back.

“Stop, obey!
Open your booth!
Driver, get down!
Mate, overload!
Come with something!
Commander, problem o!
Sergeant, stop the next one!”

We looked on.
We knew what they wanted.
We knew we would not be here long,
A little dough would make the difference.

The heat began roasting us.
We grew intolerant,
Restrained by Sisyphean struggle.

Our suffering continued.
The road tossed us side by side.
The politicians replicate.
Who will create an alternative
As we suffocate?

The journey is not long
If only we could pay for a taxi.
The journey is not long,
Yet we could not walk.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Jake Weirick on Unsplash