Iftar


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From overheated apartments walk through Ramadan dusk

After the rush, traffic slows to a trickle

Stragglers rushing to reach home.

 

Waiting for Magrib’s magic moment in every parking basement

Behind windows, at corners where rickshaw wallahs wait

At every building site, water bottles with caps unscrewed

Eyes watch hands mix puffed-rice, chickpeas, chilies

The sweet savory smell of Iftar dates, the ache of thirst.

 

Minutes tick, sun sinks, golden light in silent sky

Peace steels along the ever-crowded paths and parks.

Quiet stretches thirsty for that moment when longing

Calls across the city from a thousand minarets.

Fast is broken, the sweet first sip of water

Silence sighs relief.

 

Dhaka 2016

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