MY GOLDEN BICYCLE

Golden was the old moments, when
Children would sit on baby seat;
the frontal of my bicycle view
and, we would talk of passing views;
the trees, the men; the fair
the lofty mountains, the river bath
and, would do maths with fingers jerks
holding the steel handle of my bicycle, firm;
slowly and strongly as we wheeled the path

All muted away
In a litre of petrol
And, the running miles

Now,
They wear helmets
with longer boots
and clink hard
with metal foot

We would talk of stamina
strength and kabaddi; next to our lane
the jolly fair with jovial crowd;
The soil of our land,
the sari of grandmother to buy
the toy for kids
the rolling pin for mothers;
Roller-coaster and the magic show,
the black diamond and the fairy queen

Much was pleasant,
playing its natural way
Now,
Time plays a distant zone
Vanishing of old charm, peeve my way

My golden bicycle...