I watch the morning on my little street in Dhaka
Slowly gathering pace
The tea seller, the baker, the cats on the roof
Even the dog is on its usual place.
The sound of first rikshaw bells
Is dressed in fragrance of fresh tea
The air is embroidered by gentle sun
And the wings of crows
Carrying the smell of morning pee.
The furniture painters on the roof
Are still softly asleep
But the butcher is up
And to the kill he is dragging two little sheep.
The mother is yelling, the children are playing,
The grandma is praying to her god
The laundry so colourful is already hanging
And the father is having his bath.
So great and real are these mornings
Just like life ought to be
I can’t wait for the lunchtime
And all the things
That by noon I will see.
watching d morning life in dhaka, bangladesh..