It’s a quiet morning in old Kathmandu
The street outside still half-asleep, dew hanging on the tips of leaves like tiny moments refusing to let go.
We step out in the pale light...
Some engines don’t just start – they stir souls.
Her thump still finds the rhythm of my heart,
beat for thump, thump for beat.
Years have gone by. I’m no longer sixteen.
But every time I hear that sound in silence, I’m back there —
open roads, the wind threading through my hair,
palms resting on warm metal,
and a silence only broken by love wrapped in steel and oil.
When you’re dancing with the most beautiful girl at the party,
you never let her fall,
you bring her in close,
and when the music calls,
you lean her into the dance — slow, smooth, certain.
It’s not control. It’s trust.
Two souls, one heartbeat.
For someone once wrote,
“Find your prayer in motion,
and your faith in rhythm.”
Or maybe no one did... they should.
