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.:The New Bicycle :.

.:The New Bicycle :.

A Poem by .:Arianna:.
"

Inspired by a story of the greek writer Antonis Samarakis, one of my favourite writers...

"
He was fifteen.
he could count it on his fingers,
but he could not write it down.
He could not read.

Ever since he could remember,
from January to December,
he wore the same shirt.

He had been working in the fields all his life.
Late at night,
he'd walk home, all the way to the big, grey city.
Covered in sweat,blood and grass he'd fall asleep
in a small iron bed,infested with fleas.

He worked all his life.

So did his mother...
his...uncle....
his brother....

And now,
he has enough money.
He walks into the store...
His heart can't beat faster anymore...

...And he comes out with company.
It shines in the scorching sun!
The wheels, the steering wheel, the ribbons!
A new bike.

The first bike in the poor neighbourhood.
And everyone is there to see.
His mother...
His uncle...
His brother...
Apart from his father.
he was taken by the Germans two months ago.
But he would come back,
he was sure...

All in slow motion, he climbs up the road,
and people follow him, they gather around,
cheering and shouting, encouraging him.

His mother is sitting 
on the wooden old bench
and she's crying...
And she's smiling to him, so proud...

He reaches the top,
put his feet on the pedals...
He takes a deep breath,
Like a hero before battle,
and utters a laugh to the skies.

The crowd is excited and high
with anticipation.
They open their windows and yell from inside!
Do it! Do it!

A girl with a cute nose,
blond hair and black eyes,
steps forward and touches his bike.
She ties a red rose to the steering wheel...
 A rose young and fresh and still moist with dew.

He can't stop looking at her.
She stands out
in the frenzy.

He averts his eyes again.
He sits.
And slowly first,
willing then,
with passion and force in the end,
he flies!

He runs down the street
like he never did before.
The people are cheering, their hands here and there,
he sees their mouthes open,but hears only the
spinning air.

He goes faster and faster,
he sees the girl again,
her black eyes focus on 
his strong driving hands...

He runs down the steep road,
and the crowd's getting louder,
their voices are deeper,
raised hands even wilder.

They saw the big truck,
the boy only saw them.
He thought they were excited,
he yells back at them.
He winks to the girl
with the little cute nose,
and then the whole wide world
became a blood red rose.


© 2011 .:Arianna:.



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Added on June 15, 2011
Last Updated on June 15, 2011
Tags: bicycle, children, war, tragedy, innocence, red rose

Author

.:Arianna:.
.:Arianna:.

Amsterdam, Netherlands



About
Welcome to my page and thank you for stopping by. I am Arianna, half Dutch, half Greek, half explorer, half philosopher. I was born in Amsterdam but at the age of one I moved with my parents to Greece.. more..

Writing