The Ride I Was Left From!

Mehak Hassan

The night before, I told my brother,
“Tomorrow, I’ll laugh with friends—another.”
He saw the bus—his brow grew tight,
“This one… doesn’t feel so right.”

A chill that morning, frost in air,
But hearts were warm and unaware.
Each seat was filled with cheer and song,
We waved goodbye—it wouldn’t be long.

A pillow rested by my side—
My teacher’s comfort for the ride.
I changed my seat to shoot the view,
Laughter, photos, skies so blue.

A sudden jolt, a silence loud,
The laughter hushed beneath a cloud.
The bus, it swerved—no time to cry,
The driver leapt, left us to fly.

Black roads turned red, the air grew still,
And time obeyed a colder will.
I stood untouched, without a scar,
Yet pain had reached me from afar.

A woman held me, passed me water,
She bled too—someone’s brave daughter.
The cries, the chaos, rescue near,
But all I felt was shock and fear.

My teacher hugged me, voice unsure,
“You are the only one secure.”
But I was not—I felt the ache
Of hearts that tragedy would break.

I heard a whisper—“She’s not awake…”
But dared not ask, for my own heart’s sake.
The cries, the chaos, rescue near,
But all I felt was shock and fear.

Later someone said, with voices low:
“Asifa, Maymona… had to go.”
Their laughter lost, but not in vain,
They live in me—through love and pain.

We rode again, but now in grief,
That journey short, that life so brief.
The photos stopped, the laughter died—
My guides, my seniors, kind and wise.

I longed to learn, to grow, to rise,
But fate had plans it did not confide—
And left me here… with dreams denied.
And I was left… from that ride.

In memory of the laughter we lost, the souls we carry, and the silence that speaks louder than words.
This poem is my last memory with the seniors who left me in that tragic bus accident—
but they live on in every breath of my grief and every beat of my heart.

The author is a BANP 4th Semester