I was in the bus station Was alone so did observation The road was broad and smooth A TVS rushed in driven by a youth Then came a car Rushed from far. Then there was a bus Seemed in a fuss To choose a pathway ‘Be the Smooth or the Hathaway?’ Trailed with the former Made its way through the corner. Then there were many more The road transformed to a lore. Seconds counted to ten-twenty When vehicles were plenty. It made the path shrouded, Got noisier and crowded. Soon the competition begun Looked like it was fun But, no it wasn’t Only if they hadn’t Chosen this overcrowded road They’d save time and strode. They were moving yet Were still and in regret They had no choice to revert But to stay involuntarily inert. As I watched them struggle I realized that it was a scuffle Everyone of us face; Everyday, Yet on the smooth way Is where we stay. What if we took the other way? Would we cease to travel? Could we not bode well? Questions aried without a break Felt like I was in a wreck Couldn’t take the crowd anymore Stood and walked therefore. Took the way which was a heath It was rough but could breath, The fresh air after a while. Was a perfect place for exile. As I navigated on foot One last question did shoot. In thoughts my eyes rolled higher Thinking ‘Why always chase the rife?’ Subconscious, I read a banner, “You’re here to learn facts of life!