A Few Slices of Bangladesh

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.