The world outside the window seat?

One dusty afternoon of the summer,
When throats were dried and face were a bummer.
I took a bus ride back to home,
In this sun, you got no place to roam.
My eyes were far away from sleep,
Who would doze? In this heat and beeps.
The bus took it’s road and made its way,
And I sat at a window seat to see the world, some in hurry, some in delay.
The most busy were the cycle men,
They showed their stunts amidst cars more than ten.
The path they made were like a zig zag puzzle,
And how they solved it as if it was no trouble.
The most restless were the men in car,
Their faces were aghast as if in a war.
They honked and honked without a break,
As if their horns were all, without them not a step they could take.
The unstoppable were the kids in uniform,
Shabby, dirty and some of them were even torn.
But the last school bell ring acted like a glucose,
They were to go home and play, how fast the eagerness rose.
The most carefree was the poor beggar,
The road was his home, his land, his shelter.
He had no gold to be afraid of,
He lazily asked for alms if anyone stopped.
Every turn, every road, every path had its story,
Exhausted but alive, the people sang in glory.
Some good, some bad, some right, some wrong, all passed,
Either the bus was very swift or they all were very fast.
It was as if a small play was put up by the world,
People came and went, playing the parts they were told.
The bus stopped and the conductor came to my row,
Your destination is here madam, get down and become a part of the show.

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