Mark William Jackson made his debut at vox poetica with Greatest Story Ever Told and you may have read his blog. In Mark’s own words, “The Old Man on the Bus is a journey poem; the geographical destination is irrelevant, the real journey is psychological.”
The Old Man on the Bus
By Mark William Jackson
A car’s backfire punctured the night,
and shook me from my slumber,
outside dark clouds gathered above,
and then commenced the thunder.
The old man sitting next to me
released a sigh in mourn,
and the bus continued to roll
to take us all to dawn.
What are you looking for? the man asked.
I didn’t know what to say.
Everyone is missing something.
What is it you’re looking for today?
I shrugged my shoulders in innocence,
the man shook his head in pity.
If you don’t know what you’re looking for
you’ll drown in eternity.
Love, I offered as an answer,
which the man refused to accept.
Such a vague and easy answer to choose,
the man scorned and almost wept.
What is it you’re looking for?
I tried to swing the conversation my way.
Hope and truth as I travel to tomorrow
and cast behind today.
Hope and truth in what? I asked,
pretending to be curious.
But my ruse was seen through easily,
and this made the man furious.
I was once young like you,
I thought I knew it all,
but as you canter on your feeble bridge,
you’re heading for a fall.
I apologised for my indifference
and confessed to no solution,
I am only traveling to visit my mum,
I wasn’t prepared for this conversation.
I’ve had life, he said with a heaved chest
and in a melancholic breath,
I’ve seen so much and now I feel
the welcomed hand of death.
What can it bet in your life
that makes you hope for the end?
I asked now with sincere concern,
and considered him a friend.
Sixty-seven years I’ve spent on this earth,
seen governments come and go.
In the midst of a thousand years of lies
truth is all I know.
Wars I’ve fought to protect my land,
to see it sold to the highest bidder,
and yet the story books and the movies too
claim us to be the winner.
So as I feel my life dilute,
I ask one thing of you:
when you get off this bus continue my search,
somewhere there must be hope and truth.
With this the old man turned his head,
and closed and gave a yawn,
and the bus continued to roll
to take us all to dawn.
With my destination reached I thanked the man,
and told him I would do my best,
with this he nodded and looking skyward said,
Now can I rest?
I remember that man to this very day,
and still my search continues,
is it possible that we’ve lost
all our hopes and truths?
