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.