I am driving to work,

On this road I use everyday,

There is a truck in front of me, 

Full of hardcore,

There many of its kind on this road,

I am scared of the rubble, 

It might drop down and crush my hood,

So I purpose to overtake,

I drift off to my day ahead,




The to do lists,

My attention is drawn back to the road,

A guy jumped off the truck,

There was someone up there? 

I slow down,

I am reminded of my intention,


After a stretch I manage.

In front of me is another truck

This one carrying sand, 

With five people, or six,

I can’t see them all…

Some standing, Holding on to the rail,

Others seated on the sand.

At a bump,

A young man approaches,

He is clothed in a brown overcoat,

Now dark brown,

Evidence of hard days it has witnessed,

He is carrying a white sack,

It has empty bottles I suppose,

He throws the sack up onto the truck,

I am following it slowly,

He greets the other men,

Fist bump,

It’s the norm in this corona days,

They nod at each other,

Acknowledgment passes,

It’s a hustle, no?

We are all hustling too.

After the greetings,

He sits at a corner,

Quietly,They are all quiet.

We move along,Truck, car, riders, other cars, walkers, 

All going to our hustle,

All quietly acknowledging,

It’s a hustle,

At another bump further ahead,

In a bigger shopping centre,

He throws down his sack,

Jumps off the moving truck slowed down by the bumps,

I slow down,

I don’t want to hit him,

He acknowledges my slow, 

Goes to the roadside,

He walks back a bit, 

Picking his sack,

And goes his way,

I watch him disappear from my side mirrors view,

In my heart I wish him well.

He leaves me to my thoughts,

Its a hustle,


Back to school,




Unfulfilled lives,

Fulfilled ones,

Empty lives,

Opulent lives,

Meager Lives,

Plenty lives,

Lonely lives,

Full lives,

We are all living,

Living this day,

Accepting what it brings,

When it ends,

We shall all retire,

To where we came from, 

Awaiting tomorrow,

With all it promises,

And live the cycle