Posted: December 30, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , ,


by Okoye Chukwudi Charles Ezeamalukwuo

The bicycle repair man was my friend
We bonded over a bicycle wheel
With a spanner and a bolt, he worked diligently
His palms were of crimson brown, tainted by many years of hardship
He smiled at me, I smiled back.
Tomorrow we shall break word and tear.

Someone was dead, an unfortunate stranger had died
You would not see me mourning him
I pedaled my bicycle down through the streets of life
Passed the repair man’s shop
He wasn’t there.
When next I see him,
I would ask him of whom the flute sang today.

The next day I met a man, pedalling his bicycle
He looked familiar so I stopped him and I asked
“Who died yesterday?”
“The Repair man.” He replied,
And cycled away in time.

  1. LegendaryCJN says:

    Life is that short.
    Some whom we saw yesterday, had been ferried across by the eternal boatman to a land of no-return. Some we see today, we’ll see no more tomorrow.
    It’s time and unforeseen are most cruel on us humans.

    Nice work my good man.

  2. Chimezie says:

    A short masterpiece

  3. Kukogho Iruesiri Samson says:

    So simple a theme , so crafty its verses.

  4. Dr.Echewodo says:

    melancholia! I see a Naija here

  5. Moses opara says:

    Futility of life. At times we cloth our problems and wave out. This work is apt.

  6. Sheyzznote says:

    Lots of reader of this poetic piece will see a dead man in those lines, but I see an expectation cut short.
    When in life we begin to ride upon day and night
    And we hope to see dreams meet reality
    But getting to that point when you suppose to see bloom, you realize its not always as it seem, the bicycle repair man is dead (never as we imagine life we go).

    This piece touches the soul
    Many’s bicycle repair men are dead
    But I’ll advice you also move on and find another bicycle repair man.

    Life is but like a pedal, you don’t fall off if you don’t stop peddling.

  7. Yesterday just died. Today is living and would die in less than 24hours.

    Life is too short.
    Pray we stamp on ineligible mark of grease on the frictious surface of time. If we don’t, others will, and when they do, questions will be asked about those who never deemed it wise to stamp greaseful marks. And of course, the fate of those, is “weave off” from prosperity

  8. I was awakened at the clock of time when the import running through the lines are fared well. Clearly, I see a path breaking point where the cross-roads of keep sinking. Indeed, the tragic or the relief ending the note, sends a signal of recapture.
    A good piece telling life in it detailed meaning in few words.

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