Sunday, August 31, 2014


Before dusk falls
we put on the usual-
strappy flip flops and pants,
that reach our muddy ankles.
On tip toes, we open
the towering black gate
and head for fields,
that for us quietly await.
We pedal away, and when
the road is void of pot holes,
we race, wind in our hair.

We are only seventeen
and the roads don’t care
where we have been.
So we pedal wide and far
and leave behind
our private little boudoirs.
We breathe in forests and hills
that bask in the sunlight
and here we create
our very own idylls.

Now, when I return
to the valley of the mighty river,
the winding roads take me
to a place where we chased
dragonflies on cold Sunday mornings.
Today, the road is painted
with lines of bamboo tea stalls
and the dragonflies, they tell me,
watch the hullabaloo
from behind the forest.

*First published by Pageturners in their anthology, Across the Ages in July 2013


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Sarab said...

I love this one! It's such a pretty, nostalgic picture.

Ronmi said...

Thank you so much, Sarab and @alkaline water!