The rush

Packing parathas made of wheat,
Having no time to eat,
I rush to get in the bus.

Smiling at the nearby kid a little sweet,
Running through perverts like it's a daily greet,
I rush to get a place to sit.

Listening to a bustling beat,
Sighting a visual treat,
I rush to find peace in a minute.

Them, the people I meet,
Busy on phones they tweet,
I rush to ignore that cheat.

Burning with heat,
Yet melting like sleet,
I rush to the neat
WINDOW SEAT.

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