ON RIDING A CYCLE

This is my submission for the April 2nd , 2024 prompt for # NapoWriMo2024. The prompt is to write a poem on – “a platonic love poem, in other words, a poem not about a romantic partner, but some other kind of love – your love for your sister, or a friend, or even your love for a really good Chicago deep dish pizza. The poem should be written written directly to the object of your affections (like a letter is written to “you”), and should describe at least three memories of you engaging with that person/thing.”

I choose to write my poem on the experience of learning to ride my bicycle growing up. As it was taught by my father, it remains a fond memory, therefore this ‘letter’ is to my CYCLE.

[ I ]

I remember riding my cycle,

tiny feet pushing the paddles,

the thrill, the high I was chasing.

Little heart pumping, the fear of a fall,

joy of the balance, gravity defying,

cutting the wind in half.

My front tire against the world,

my brake being my shield,

and my handles being swords.

They cut and slash the sharp wind,

I remember skirts fluttering,

other cyclists joining,

racing the concrete grounds,

against the orange-red dawn.

[ II ]

I remember my father guiding my cycle,

balancing my tiny frame onto the seat,

testimony to my jumpy younger self.

Shaking, and crying, I learnt the balance,

the watchful eye of my sister,

and my mother cheering.

One round from the right paddle,

joined by the movement of the left,

the chain connecting the tires, rattling.

The strange automaton moves,

carrying my weight with it,

the subtle beauty of the golden balance,

the method becoming quicker and faster,

paddling, the chain twisting, the tires circling, and my self moving.

[ III ]

I remember my father letting go of his hold,

being unaware I rode to my heart’s delight,

with the confidence one has under a parent’s eye.

I remember discovering his mischief later,

shocked I could ride on my own,

a new independence.

I took to different, new routes,

followed puppies and cars,

collected shiny rocks and roadside fruits.

A menace sometimes,

I remember falling and scraping my knees,

hitting many a passersby, cars honking,

collecting rocks, flowers and ber fruits,

returning home with my faraway treasures.