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It is not easy to ride a cycle rikshaw

At least now I know

Years ago, I had a cycle rikshaw master

We were almost carried on his wings

If he were a bird of feathers

Burning and groaning, he had sinking eyes

The first day I met him, he smiled like one of us

Second day, he sang his own songs for us

In the wheels of time, he became silent

Perhaps more silent than I was

Yet we were ignorant about each other’s silence

Days robbed his smile, nights shrunk his shoulders

On a late evening, I saw him drunk with no rikshaw on his sides

Never I again, I was carried in his wings

Even today, I am sure those were my most muted days

* Rikshaw – Name of a vehicle used mainly in Asia, driven in pedals or pulled manually