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Poem

We used to ride our bikes,
the ones without brakes,
along rusty tracks,
trying to keep up with trains

but like life,
they moved too fast,
we always got left behind.

Even in pouring rain
we would ride all day,
never feel the cold,
never tire of the freedom.
Following those endless tracks,
like run away trains -
escaping our demons,
chasing our dreams. 

But you changed the day,
they stole your bike.
Saw life as an internal battle,
always spoke about the struggle.

When I expressed through ink,
you expressed through external 
egotistical fist fights,
from nights of intoxication and women,
who you claimed were your sanctum

and you always played the victim,
so I travelled those tracks alone -
with a ticket for a new destination.

Now penniless you lie there,
feeling tired, shivering with cold,
hoping the illusions will end soon.

You struggle to utter a word,
yet manage to smile -
a sign for goodbye

and I wonder what if
it was my bike that had been stolen.

Silent One
Simple Musing
27 October 2019

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