Kayfucius

Stories;

Surrounded by so many of them,

each as unique and infinitesimal

as the Universe itself –

the respect and love I carry for each

is commensurate with

my own –

for myself.

So I don’t worry about the overstimulated baby

who cries because they’re not

comfortable enough in their present environment

to sleep;

Or the older gentleman who almost falls over

as he sleeps through the bumps and jerks and sudden stops

the bus makes.

I pay no mind to the young melanated man

rapping his renditions of K.R.I.T. out loud

or the woman having a loud phone conversation

in the back.

I’m not disturbed by the cacophonic symphony of sounds

and life

around me,

only everyone (else)’s obvious, yet covert need

to hide their varied emotional states

in fear of being called out for their contribution

to these perceived disruptions.

I smile realizing

life’s just like this bus ride,

many different beings

getting on

and off, with different destinations…

some together, but mostly separate

all just trying to get somewhere,

even when they might not know

where they’re headed;

But still rolling along

travelling their various paths;

Paths which intersect and often collide

by the most Divine of orchestrations.

Many of us haven’t reached our stop yet

but the bell rings no differently

regardless of where we choose to hop off

and when…

A story doesn’t happen in its beginnings

or end;

It happens in the telling –

we’re all still writing ours, in one way

or another.

⁰²⁰⁸²²