When the hand holding the bicycle in balance
loosens the grip for the first time
there is an emptiness that you feel.
Soon enough, you are occupied with the ride
forgetting about the pillion riding void.
It hasn't left you though.
Riding along as you go
it occupies the nearest seat.
You might crowd the journey
but there are gaps, wedged deep
like the fissures in a dry field.
In those gaps amidst the arid moments
sprouts the emptiness like a summer weed.
Like the uncleared guilt it surfaces
at odd times and you shudder
for a moment long, of pure loneliness
buoying on the undulating waters of time.