One million black and yellow bees
Cycling madly through the streets.
I don’t know if I’ll make it home tonight.
squeezing with friends into the rickshaw’s back seat.
Open air, free hearts, the joy of the night!
“Waaa!” commands the boney driver to the street,
twisting an invisible joy knob in the air.
“Waaa!” we reply, exploding in laughter.
He laughs, calls out to other drivers.
We speak back in tongues.
Language doesn’t matter.
Life is hysterical. We abandon all control.
Loud, loud, the driver plays music,
dances, calls out, Waaaa!
We are right behind him,
Strangers stare at us rocking the rickshaw
In Mumbai, buzzing through smog, frenzy, insanity,
we weigh down on the uphills and try to help
the driver laughs, bobbling his crazy head.
Suddenly, at a stoplight, inches away descend
a giant gilded framed Ganesh, a blue hairy puppet shooting a tongue, red balloons, and a woman begging with baby
EVERYTHING IS HERE! Wanting us!
Green light and we dash onward.
Our driver does what he always does,
dancing, driving, swerving, stopping
just in time, free radical, conscious lunatic
calling out for all the world to play.
1 comment:
love love love it!
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