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