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Personal Note:
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Poem
There was a time 
In the not distant past
When farmers would sell their wares
Of fruits and vegetables they had planted
To feed the town folks, and balance a budget
In exchange, for clothes, sundries and junket
For the  oranges, bananas and mangoes
They would supply
As exchange is no robbery,
There was never a cry,
As fair deals were in order
As their return would require
 "May reach" was was put to the task
A country bus
It was bedecked to the rafters
Laden at every stop
But its travel was not always sure
As the dirt roads would often, set it back
With burst tyres, broken crankshafts
Adding to the score
Of this uncertainty , its passengers must endure
But jauntily it travelled along
In its bright painted, reds, yellows and greens
As its tooting horns thunders through the air
Alerting , passenger in a distance, 
It will soon be there

We would hustle and bustle
To assembly the produce
Down cobbled tracks, and a steep decent
We would scurry to meet its presence
Before it arrived
Then off it would chirp , with higglers inside
No sooner we would be waiting on its return
But there was never a certainty in its sojourn 
As one of its many irks, would strike
As we would often learn

It would hoot and toot 
For the rest of the week
As it made its daily trek
But it was never a certainty
So it was christened "MAY REACH".
Well Saturdays was the day
When we would know the success of the plan
Would we get the happy news of a selloff 
When the seller would show their hand
Or is the reality of an also ran?
Making up the numbers but not a hit
Or is it success, 
With purchases and wares?
Crammed in bags, stuffed in baskets.

Now adventurous youths always seek thrills
And it was to join "MAY REACH" in a nearby town
At the back of the bus 
They would climb 
where the driver couldn't see
All filled with excitement
All filled with glee
The idea was to dismount , as it slowed on a bend.
Or when a passenger , dismounted at a journeys end.
That was a plot ,tried and tested
But that plot was changed
And the script was rested
When the driver had other plans
He saw the imps climbing on the back
And decided to cart them away.
Well off track
Far from their home
Far from their stop.

I declined the invitation at my age
As the older members ,reckoned
I was not at that stage
I was a liability on this excursion
But a witness I was on its approach
No one alighted, the driver stepped on the gas
In full flight I heard a blop
With painful cries and exclamations
As on the ground , bruised friends lie
Are you ok, I enquired
That I shouldn't have asked
There were scratches, torn clothes
Bruised egos, everywhere
As I basked in hindsight
I didn't venture
I didn't dare

No sooner had they cussed their luck
The laughter of the spectacle inside me, struck
As in disdain , the wounded looked.
Calling me all the names written in a book.
But there was a lesson learnt
Never you underestimate a change of plan
Especially when its taken out of your hand
And as the driver added a few notes in the distance
I could not but anticipate its return
Laden with Mama's treats
With the coins I would get paid 
And the many treats
For my efforts,
But I never climbed on the back of that bus
I would rather wait ,
That I can trust.
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