in a mess of feelings i sat down on the shuttle,
all thoughts on problems and none of solutions.
i was going on a personal errand,
feeling guilty for spending the time,
proper priorities disagreeing with my pressing deadlines.
looking up from the front row,
i caught the face on the rear-view mirror,
paused and glanced--
ah, there he was on the driver's seat,
a familiar face from my studying days.
whenever i saw him it was always this calm expression,
though i wouldn't know what he was really thinking inside.
i used to think i am one for sunshine people,
but it turns out this mood calls for something else,
like the barely changing, kind-looking, mature features on him.
we have figures wise and profound,
whose soothing images i can look upon anytime,
some whose advices i can seek and trust;
there are also friends in similar strains,
if it is the frustration i need to share;
but there's an effect seemingly only strangers,
whose struggles are unknown to me,
working on their own equally mundane routines,
by this unique sort of detached empathy,
achieve.
sometimes i don't want answers,
because no other can help with the ones i need.
sometimes i can't talk about it,
because it takes more work just to sort my thoughts out.
at times i don't even know what kind of help i want,
then come these silent hands i haven't asked for,
that i can take hassle-free not bothering with propriety,
that do nothing really but clear my mind instantly.
it dictates somehow that they remain nameless,
without labels to constrain what i can give or take;
because that may be why some things work,
being just what they are:
these encounters with no attachment nor expectation,
the worldly buddhas to me.
