The cold blade
that cuts in haste,
through existence,
is hardly noticed
in the rush,
in the obsession;
as I move in circles,
concentric.
Its radius is my will,
but... but,
the start,
and the finish
reek of selfishness;
the
point, it’s home. |
| Working up the cadence and pace on a chilly morning ride to Gurgaon on my Cannondale |
