A Dhaka Minute

 A car, a hopeful meanderer,

Static in perpetual motion, an equilibrium

Unwanted, undesired, but

The only inevitable.

Inside, the air is conditioned, cool –

Outside, an almighty inferno.


The temple, once hallowed, now erring, ablaze,

The slum, once homes, now ablaze,

The bus, a promise of transference, ablaze,

The rickshaw, a livelihood, ablaze,

The flesh, once human, destitute, desperate, despicable,

Once alive, now consumed by the blaze.


Inside the car, aglow with

Health and vivacity,

Wealth and virility;

Indubitably preponderant, awash with

The only green that matters,

An infallible deceit that flatters.


Outside, a macabre imponderable,

Inside, insulated, pondering the superficial.

Digital clock ensconced in leather dashboard

Resets from fifty-nine to zero –

Irked inhale, a haughty exhale,

No motion, the count begins again.

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