Friday, March 14, 2014

Fast Motor-bikes.

There's a soul-full exhilaration in riding fast motor-bikes,
especially in India where there are no rules or safety rails,
the upside-down roller coaster has nothing to compare
to the thrills and chills, the utter terror of zipping in and out
and round about the plethora of obstacles, I can barely hang on and pray,
the helpless pillion, only Indians know to expect the unexpected,
I've nearly killed myself seven times so now I hire a driver
more skilled than any video-game genius, as one mistake and you're dead in this game,
Indians' response time so quick they could beat off any alien invasion with laser-zaps.
I have to have complete trust in others, total resignation to my fate and go with it;
the dust may reclaim me at any moment, never born, never dead,
just at one with the universe again until I reach my destination,
the journey sure was the reason and the high.
The monkeys who laugh and play chicken with all the oncoming traffic,
the suicidal dogs who throw themselves under your wheels in a dare,
the pedestrians and cows nonchalantly crossing, the zillion cars, trucks, jeeps and bikes
driving on the wrong side of the road and coming straight at you,
only to swerve away at the last moment, and the SUVs and buses
that hog the roads and drive you into the potholes and ditches,
the mad merry-go-round where each jumps into the swirl
not looking what's coming behind, you have to brake to let them in;
if you can't beat 'em join 'em, my friend drives like a bat out of hell
to beat the odds, fast and furious, freaky and free, through a landscape
of jungle, mountain, river, forest, waterfall, garden, village, farm and grungy town,
I can only sing with the thrills so overwhelming, life and limb risked just to get nowhere,
and arrive before you left, a miracle to survive, the miracle of consciousness,
it makes one flash white-hot satori how wonderful it is
to be alive.

(To Jack Kerouac on his birthday.)

If you enjoyed this story please go to the WEB address above and consider buying my book of tales about growing up anarcho-queer, rock and roll punter and mystic adventurer in Australia and India of the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s.