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In this ballad, Dr Gita talks about her childhood and what happened when she rode her new bicycle. An exclusive for Different Truths.
Once upon a time,
Going through a wild vine,
Wearing that favorite red frock of mine,
Basket full of white roses looked divine,
It was my weekend morning biking time,
I was in the seventh sky, as if the whole world was mine,
It was an awesome rocking time,
Mind was dwelling somewhere, it wasn’t mine,
My wrist watch showed number nine,
Oh yes, I too was that time, in class nine,
Dangling hairs were bothering my face some time,
Flying and playing, hide and seek, with sun shine
With a full speed, I rode my bike
Newly learnt – so my sprit flew like a kite,
My dreams were at incredible height,
I was thrilled and was on my right,
My shoes were tight, literally giving me the bite,
My mind was somewhere at a far sight,
I was humming song, my favorite,
I was full of delight,
The day started becoming bright,
That time the road was very quiet
All of a sudden, it started raining,
Wheels of my bike were skidding,
It was thundering and heavily pouring,
In a hurry, I started returning,
The day suddenly looked like evening,
As if the alongside the trees were also running,
I imagined and was fearing,
To myself I was talking,
But I had a faith on daring,
I was flabbergasted, when I found myself falling,
Drenched completely and on mud I was rolling,
My new bike was broken – that kept me bothering,
I started sobbing,
I knew I would get the scolding,
Instead of home, took my bike for repairing,
I was going to the moon; instead, took it for welding.
Photo sourced by the poet from the Internet
