I never did learn to ride the bicycle

On this broken down path I stand; the tarmac eroding at my feet

The fog blocks my view of the path, behind me lies the jungle I trudged

I was not given a machete; this game is cruel.

As the last of my torch runs out, I hear a bike bell;

a body, alone; murdered trying to fix a bike.

I did not have the time to wonder what went wrong.

I hear its’ footsteps, methodical and precise.

As it lashes at the jungle before me, I realise I must be quick.

I push my way through the thicket, and I see the path is cut by a stream

The treacherously slippery rocks, they almost get me on my knees.

It is then that I realise, the poor soul judged his life by his bike.

And I realise,

I was never taught how to ride a bicycle; but I learnt,

my feet would never betray me.

I was never taught how to ride a bicycle; but I learnt,

not all paths are best covered with wheels.

A dedication.