on a long desert road
with no living soul
a distant voice is heard
of a machine that roars
two wheels & black in color
unafraid & unrestrained
a hopeless lover;
that refuses to give up.
drifting along the scorching sun
brighter than the sunshine
darker than the night
the drifter has no name & its hometown is unknown
we can see it right now, but soon it will be gone.
it journeys for a reason that shall not be revealed
it has no principles; it lies, cheats & steals
burning the rubber, it burns its past
runs over its demons, it turns to ash.
it forgets the faces of those along the way
but it remembers how it felt on each travelling day
some understand, some forget.
it is life, it is the living dead.
pedal to the metal, roaring engine engulfs flame
it is an artist; it refuses to chase fame.
an illusion, a delusion, a wonder, a candle.
a friend, a metal, a gang, a sound.
hear it yet? there, it comes around
Himanshu Chakravarty Sharma / मंच 