There, I never had time,
to think, or,
to look back at
what I just left behind:
The shade,
the safe confines of a
heart at rest, away from the
muscle and hustle of love,
on a recliner.
There, I took the
sharp left,
to begin my
erotic slither up
your contours,
your lips, and your
heaving, heavy breasts.
I was defining,
reiterating, like those milestones,
the stubborn life,
and, now,
a stubborn death,
in truth as well as lies.
So, judge me, will ya?
This day, for life...
Lest I die before
I return to your arms again.
But, I better not die this morn,
noon, or at the campfire,
chewing boneless fish,
relishing the formless bond
with boys old
and men young.
Back, on the incline...
I better not sleep,
I better not stop for Facebook,
for a frame in its video.
My movie is beyond you Mark,
just like the beauty
of the valley is to me now,
the taunt from a virgin,
while I scale the
mother of many.
In her beauty,
in the roundness of her being,
I burn, churn...
The turns, the ferns,
passing mites and mates,
gangsters, their families,
good Samaritans,
school scholars,
and finally Jesus,
His house I stayed, a minute;
for the Host, the pure mountain air,
laced with salt, lemon,
and a prayer.
After years I communed,
on my elbows, aged and wise,
hunched over the
drop handles,
as humble as I could ever be.
The final kick,
I searched,
the last three furlongs,
smiling at the amused boy,
the bemused man;
smirking at the
crowded market,
and swearing at the porch,
for it meant the end,
as I felt the rush
shiver through my body
and leave me,
to fly over a misty lake,
towards sunset,
and a brighter tomorrow,
for all of us, fingers crossed.
The lone man
I spent talking with,
hours up the path,
o’er smashed oranges,
past angry apes,
side-stepping haulers,
trawlers and tourists,
had already punched and killed him.
That insignificant
little bastard we call Limit.
(On the 52-km climb up to Kodaikanal, which I cycled last month, on the last day of KC500, the 500-km charity cycling ride from Chennai to Kodai)
