Meditation and Spring

Each and every attempt
to pedal this tinted bike
feels like an attempt
to drive through florid airstrike.

Each airstrike has an old thought,
buried deep down inside brain,
and it randomly emerges out
while cycling in this springy rain.

Each rain blooms these flowers
of neurons falling down on tree.
The wind spreads hues from flowers
and brain toils for another spree.

Each spree focuses on fresh breath
going in and out of the nose.
The goal is to paint brief death
to flowers, when the air flows.

Each flow repeats the cycle
of cycling, wind, and breath.
The whole idea is to be idle,
to not fail is to grant death.

Each death is an entry to a world:
where hues and tints fills the space,
they are present but not unfurled,
each sec is an idle spring of solace.