Cycling

Cars honking at me from behind, 8-wheelers, and four-wheelers feel the road is not for a cyclist. Many human beings are in a race. They want to die while driving, unconsciously. The muscles of my legs are exhausted like the eyes of a vendor who sells fruits and waits for his customers. The being questions if you are in paradise. No reply comes back. The being doesn't feel whether it is in Kashmir or in the market until the human being lifts her eyes, sees the mountains-one with snow and one without snow. The being affirms, "I am in paradise, I am in Kashmir, I am in the valley.