Oh, tiny beast of yellow, green, and black,
You have no doors in front and none in back.
You shake and rattle, roar a mighty sound,
The fastest, craziest machine in town
The driver is a king upon his throne,
He knows a secret shortcut, his alone.
He'll swerve and dip, he'll narrowly miss a cow,
And get you there, you don't know how.
Forget the laws of physics and of grace,
This is a journey through both time and space.
You hold on tight, you say a silent prayer,
As wind and city dust play with your hair.
You are not smooth, you are not clean or grand,
But you're the beating pulse of this whole land.
A bumpy, noisy, three-wheeled, trusty friend,
Who gets us home right at the very end.
Poet's Note
This poem is a love letter to the chaotic but wonderful auto-rickshaw. It’s a vehicle that seems to operate on its own set of rules, and a ride in one can feel like a mini-adventure. I wanted to capture that unique mix of fear, excitement, and affection we have for them. Beyond the bumps and noise, the auto-rickshaw truly is a symbol of the energy and resilience of city life. It’s a celebration of finding character and joy in the things we see every day.