In the cradle of Bombay, I find my seat,
A rickshaw awaits, an open-air retreat.
Through labyrinthine lanes, I’m bound to roam,
In tales untold, this city is my home.
The rickshaw’s hum, a symphony of its own,
The vibrant pulse of life, a steady drone.
With every jolt, the city comes alive,
A dance of colors as we strive and strive.
Through bustling markets, we deftly glide,
Amidst the chaos, I find peace inside.
The scent of spices fills the swirling air,
A heady potion, banishing all despair.
The world outside refracts in glassy streams,
A cityscape of hopes and countless dreams.
Neon signs and ancient temples stand,
A fusion of tradition and the modern hand.
The rickshaw’s wheels, like time, roll on,
Past chawls and mansions, dusk to dawn.
Through narrow by-lanes, where stories thrive,
In every nook, a tale of life to derive.
The sea’s horizon beckons from afar,
A shimmering canvas under the twilight star.
With salt-kissed breeze caressing my face,
I embrace the spirit of this boundless space.
A kaleidoscope of faces passing by,
Each one a chapter, a glimpse of the sky.
Their stories weave, a tapestry of grace,
In this vast metropolis, a human embrace.
From Ballard Estate to Bandra’s shore,
Through churning waves and cobblestones galore,
The rickshaw’s trail winds with every bend,
A journey unbound, where wonders never end.
As daylight fades, the city comes alive,
A symphony of neon, in rhythm, I thrive.
In rickshaw’s cradle, I’m an eager guest,
A voyage of the soul, an eternal quest.
O Bombay, your heartbeat I can feel,
In a rickshaw’s realm, your essence is surreal.
A love affair, a serenade of art,
Forever bound, never to depart.
-Mahi Sanghvi, A2-A.
Another Level Higher 