Dhaka on a sad day

Tired desk with wooden chair

No circulation to the air

Creepers climb, decay's despair

Beyond the window pane

Empty cup and blackened pot

Brickwork stained and left to rot

In the land the world forgot

Beyond the window pane

With a jolt the fan is cut

Shadows triumph, light is shut

A canyon street become a rut

Beyond the window pane

Hours fade as thoughts possess

Sultry sweat a home address

Wires crossed in tangled mess

Beyond the window pane

No way forward, no return

Subtropical malaise to learn

Gone are days to seek and yearn

From artery and vein

Dhaka on a happy day

With pedal click the rickshaw's here

Driver withered, fuelled by cheer

Buoying bazaar life is near

Elixir of the street

Neighbors wave, an old man's grin

The cricket ball is bowled to spin

Teashop friends are adda-ing

People that we meet

Howl of dog and hawker's call

Boisterous vibrancy for all

Haggling at any stall

A spicy welcome treat

Breeze divine, imbibe the ride

Tension can no longer hide

Joy of life can't be denied

The lore of rickshaw fleet

Wheels are turning, going fast

If only such a ride could last

The future bodes as does the past

When stopped to find our feet

Andrew Eagle is an occasional contributor to the Star Literature Page.