Call of the Mountain
——————–
The lofty mountains beckon, I can conquer them I reckon, legs ache to scale the high windy passes, at the thought of which my pulse races, the sprocket grits its teeth, the tyres groan beneath, the legs push harder, streams of sweat gather, the breathing gets softer, like a whisper, the God wind gets crisper, chilling the cheekbones, you curse, you pray, you laugh, you hiss and constantly piss, all this while, the rivers and the enchanting peaks are pure bliss, and then my eyes fly open, gaze at concrete towers and grey dull skies, seems that this world is a lie, life here is like a microsoft chart pie, until a little voice commands, do it before its too late, life will not wait.
Cyclebeat in Mumbai
——————-
Heaving the pedal on Pali Hill
doesn’t need much skill
but once you reach Mount Mary
it can be quite contrary,
it is steep as a church spire,
something for sure to aspire
riding against the wind,
at Worli sea face, can hamper your pace,
legs strain against the stubborn sea breeze,
makes you wish the chains had more grease,
the roaring waves, and heavy rain, a medley of nature,
the headwind sure is a teacher,
onward one rides to picturesque Malabar Hill,
a gentle climb, and the descent is like go for the Kill,
at a speed of fifty, the soul flies, the wheels get a life,
cutting through the humid air like a knife,
its eight now, rolling past curious buses and cars, some locals race,
some drivers smile, some frown
and some simply honk,
for them in the heavy rain, you are an inspiration, a dreamer, mad nut,
a poor soul lost, who now winds his way back to his post.