Strolling through a concrete jungle 

Of no particular latitude or longitude 

Kicking empty cans that should have 

Been recycled a long time ago 

I guess, it was inevitable ---

I stumbled!

Falling into somebody's worn out 

Sandbox, I came across several 

Rusted out buckets. 

These buckets were filled with dreams. 

Left behind in legerity to escape 

A decline of suburban rote living ---

Why do we leave our dreams behind? 

Is it because we are afraid? 

Afraid of dying?

Wary of being unshut?

I see it all the time, 

People not really in love 

Nestling down to the very life 

They fled from - only now 

Their buckets are made of plastic 

Filled with empty dreams 

Or ineffectual prayers!

The Author teaches English in DPS STS School, Dhaka.