When the winter breeze begins blowing

When the city’s auditoriums fill with plays

Under the soft morning light in Lalbagh

I sit, reading to the wind

A collection of poems in hand

Short stories in my bag

Giant Silk Cotton Trees, three of them

With me, behind the bench I sit

Little men sitting underneath

Reading, laughing, smiling

Talking, dreaming, walking

In throes of togetherness

Across the pond over the waterline

Morning sun climbs up

Over Bugle rock, more people

Overfed pigeons oblige those who feed

Palms together some pray

At the sight of sun

Palms held some pray

Thanking the other palm that is held.

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