Through the Bus Window

I saw your motorbike passed by,

Not sure it was yours, at first,

Then, I saw your familiar figure,

With the usual and common white-tee and blue jeans;

And your short hair and specs,

With the brightest eyes, blinking,

Towards the morning sunlight.

I was watching you all the while,

After having some time we have not met,

And of course, you did not notice me in the bus,

Coz you are hurrying by.