My Dad’s Old Car

My dad’s rickety old car I now wish to ride
The one that would break down always,
too lazy to carry its passengers
to places in one single smooth ride.

A tyre puncture, overheating, an oil change
would always punctuate a road trip.
Stranded at the side of the road,
The orange earth and the dead trees
not an oasis we would want.

We would take in unwillingly
an entirely unfetching concoction
of heat, wind and dust.
Dad would try to fix his beloved car,
As under our breaths we would pray,
He learns his lesson this time.

Alas, not a lesson he or his car learnt,
Both blindly in love with each other,
blaming the bumpy roads for breakdowns,
Cursing the rains and earth below.

Now, the roads are sleeker,
so is my car, but then, sometimes,
all I want is a ride in my dad’s car.
Those were the good ol’ nineties
when nothing was as shiny as now.
A tiny bit of extra effort for everything,
yet each moment a memory in making.

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