A little brown river,
Naked children splashing in its muddy waters,
Their mirth and laughter of raucous delight,
Untroubled by foresight.
A tiny hut made of mud,
Parching in the dazzles of the ruthless sun,
The bent figure of a farmer as he nurtures
The field of paddy that his simple heart treasures.
A bustling bazaar,
With its overwhelming array of sights and smells,
A man with a cart full of ripe plump litchis, a rickshaw puller,
Whiling away the time, adding to the cacophony as they bicker.
As the sun sets over the distant ragged hills and lush overgrowth,
I ponder on what I have retained
From the journey across the plains of my mother land,
Bangladesh, where happiness and poverty, go hand in hand.