This week’s poem inspired by hot hours spent in Dhaka traffic on roads which are being bumpy, dusty and in the process of being dug up…. again!

Bad drive

Overheated from the start

Dusted dull grey, strewn

With ill-humored passengers

Humorless drivers.

A drive lumpy as flour-thickened soup.

Dhaka 2016

This week’s poem inspired by Boishakh or Bangla New Year celebrations in my favorite park, which is usually quiet on hot days, and always popular with crows.

Boishakh in the park

Above loud milling crowds

a weary mother crow

feeds her overgrown chick

Dhaka 2016

This week’s poem stirred by early morning thoughts and regrets… and resolutions. Memories of other lives, lived in a different light.

Unexercised

That part of myself

long ago put away, tinned,

with tightly screwed lid,

an icy corner behind flavors we don’t like.

Under fine dusting of neglect,

artistically articulated

 in outdated diaries,

stored in drawers behind extra keys to lost locks.

Despite lack of airing and exercise

I trust she will wake when called.

Dhaka 2016

This week’s poem, inspired by the impression of familiarity, but also of contrast I received when I was recently in Sri Lanka. After 6 years in Bangladesh, I see other countries through that particular lens of experience.

Women of Sri Lanka

On the Kandy streets, smiling, shopping, hurrying,

I recognize in you my Bengal sisters;

you have thrown off sari, salwar kameez, dupatta,

instead a light blouse, a loose skirt

bright over brown ankles,

slender feet in cheap sandals.

I recognize my Bengali sisters’ figure, face and form,

but stare to see you seated in the driver’s seat,

your confident stride,

long black hair loose or in sensible styles.

Seeing a sister, who overnight

has chosen a more practical life.

Kandy, Sri Lanka 2016