After the Sea

What could be written today? But what’s on the page? About the pulses? Winds tonight are motionless Burial of the torn was done Is it because of the cold? Rain of the that night When the war torch came Back to home with the fall Of the empire and bricks? Runaway fragrance in the light …

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 …