Empty buckets

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.