Into The Bus

I was standing there, calm and silent,

When suddenly the scene became violent.

Screaming and shouting all around me,

I asked myself which war was this to be?

People swept by me as if an angry tide,

And there I stood with a chill run up my hide.

Pulling and scratching and hitting and cursing,

It had worsened than freestyle wrestling.

Cossack and Russian fell on each side,

Thus did Tennyson write of that great ride.

But here, mother and child fell on side,

In that rushing human tide

What is it that brings a man so low?

That of other's feelings, he doesn't want to know?

And I stand there asking myself, "Why all this fuss?"

And that too, for getting into a bus?!