remember your first bicycle?
i was so happy, so eager to learn,
i remember going through so much pain
falling on my face, picked up by my dad
as i cried and he kissed my feet saying
'there, it's all good now'
but then the bicycle ended up being my life
for a few short years
but then it is too small, and i was too big
i have grown, and it hadn't.
so i said goodbye and put it on the corner of the garage.
bought a brand new one.
i realize now, it's kind of like you and me.
you have grown, back then, and i hadn't.
you've made other friends, and i hadn't.
that's why when i'm not what you wanted,
not what you needed anymore, you left,
little by little.
you replaced me, just like the yellow bicycle
that leans onto the wall, unused and forgotten.
A synaptic symphony
This is my attempt to rationalize beauty.
A few years ago I saw a woman riding on a
green bicycle. I don’t know how to explain it,
but something clicked in me, and I was never
the same again, though the woman will never
know I exist, let alone that she’s affected my
life in so profound a way. All of my failed attempts
at novels, including the one I’m currently in the
process of disappointing myself with, have been called
The Woman on the Green Bicycle. I think of
her every day. I haven’t the slightest idea why.
I don’t try to invent stories for her, but appreciate
that one little image I have of her.
Mom was driving me home from school. The
Woman was crossing a busy intersection on her
green bicycle. “Do you see her, Mom?” I asked.
She didn’t understand. But I knew I had witnessed
an act of beauty.
I don't know how to ride a bicycle
So you grabbed the bike and showed me how
But I didn't quite understand how you did it
So you let me ride it while holding the backside
I pedalled slowly at first, then gradually faster
Until the breeze hits my face and I've got smile on my lips
At last, I thought, I learned how to ride it
Then I looked behind and saw the view
You're not holding it anymore, you're faraway from me
I'm far from you, and you waved goodbye
So, I turned towards north and pedalled some more
At last, I thought, I learned how to ride the bicycle.
I didn't know how to ride a bicycle
But you taught me how, so I turned towards north, and pedalled some more.
PS I actually don't know how to ride a bicycle. Haha
Across my path, skipping on air uplifting, yellow wings pulse erratic in fashion as they go about their flight of fancy. I think not much, yet smile for such lighthearted play before me.
Moments and miles pass, alas, yellow wings appear and arrive in the sigh of the wind. As if to capture me they whip wildly in every direction as I dodge and lean, avoiding collision in our dance of dare.
Like ticking hands of clever clockwork they point in my direction, and I wonder of the message scripted on the yellow wings of things seeking my attention.
I think not of random chance in meeting yellow wings so plenty, and I begin to see the glee in the creatures flight. The crawler once grounded is now the flyer free, to be everything it dreamt impossible. To relinquish what was and greet what is, with gusto and fervor in fever pitch.
I nod and acknowledge the message received, the butterfly and I affirm our mantra, “I am not he, tis merely me, morphed into spirit soaring.” I sense the change and feel the difference between what was hidden and that which magic has revealed, through eyes upon yellow wings.
Curls of clouds,
high above the songs of cardinals,
their red wings brush the air that chill my face
Upon the road that beckons forth the wheels,
they carry me through joy,
to places wide and free
From which my mind will abandon thought and then,
my heart does sing a melody of love,
with sun on my face and brow
they drive me forward in motion towards peaks and plains,
the landscape changes its mind, and my view
Riding there and back,
out beyond the limits of lights and lanes,
there lies tranquility on my bike