Pedaling Dreams on a Wet Road

yusuf achmad

On the wet road, the pedicab roams,
tracing the rain’s footprints that fall from the sky—
like God’s blessing, never choosing favorites.
Sometimes gentle like whispered prayers,
sometimes fierce, like a tiger devouring time.

Plastic veils dance with the restless wind,
wrapping fatigue and clothes now soaked through.
Drop by drop, memories are transcribed,
like ink on the heart that refuses to fade—
not by heavy rain nor by life’s harsh tempests.

Its wheels slice through puddles,
as time slices through wounds and hope.
You sit inside, silently watching
the ripples that reflect your face—and mine.
Thunder grumbles, lightning slashes the sky,
as if siblings to a storm misaligned with longing.
Yet the pedicab stays its course,
pedaling dreams toward a quiet station
where rain learns to cease, and flowers learn to bloom.

When the earth is damp,
a seed of hope slowly grows,
spreading fragrance untouched by the rain.
So it was: Surabaya, wet in that May,
kept stories in every drop—
between pedicabs, rain, and love
that never yields to the storm.

July 2025