bus route 4

sitting here again
in the back of the blue bus
with my ass
on the seat
that I picked out for myself

the same blue bus
that makes my fingers
pick up pen and papers
after long times of
numb thoughts

now if you don't know my city
I have to tell you
the blue bus is at its best
when crossing the western bridge
passengers looking out
saying hello to waves and towers and tiny little boats
below the slopes of Södermalm

please, don't mind me
when I take a ride around town
on the same seat
throughout September
observing strangers
with overly strong affection

get on
get off
look me
in the eyes
will you?

I was raised believing
the back of the blue bus
is the place to write poems
and fall in love
with your headphones on

especially into
those sad men who
think they're invisible
invisible as they look
at people not looking back
finding a seat
most probably close to mine
too humble
too humble and kind
just like this city
never really understanding
their own beauty

it must have been
someone older than me
with many books
in his past
who taught me
a good view
from the last seat
always beats
the front row sweat
the lime light fragments
of an everlasting life