Cycling Stories


August 3, 2020



COVID lockdown, jammed vehicles 
Stirred to expose my old bicycle 
My old parents had exigency of medicine 
I remember 
Didn’t forget 

In the scorching June noon 
On rough and ruined road 
People scoffed at me 
For being a ripe-aged old woman cyclist 

My bulging nostrils and soul-stirring smile 
Incited them even more 
The outworn, faded, and rusty cycle 
Kept racing with the same esteem 
By which space shuttles blast 

In the front row, I picked up medicine 
Nobody scolded me to break the line 
Astonished, they were rather 
Once again, on the road I was 
Kept quiet, all the mockers now 

Just like a winning cyclist 
I leaned it against the main gate 
The smile on wrinkled faces 
Left me tight-lipped 
Outside, patted my conveyance 

Flooding tears mixed with sweat 
All I gained by my bicycle 
Which was lost 

Sabah Yousaf is a poetess from Pakistan.
Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Share in the Stoke!

Subscribe To Our Bi-Monthly Newsletter

Zero spam. No information sharing. 100% inspiration.