My last few days before traveling to Denmark for my annual leave. We are well into the holy month of Ramadan in Bangladesh and in the evenings I go out on my bicycle just as the Mullahs call the breaking of the fast. People everywhere, rich and poor, young and old, gather to break the fast and the streets are quiet for half an hour as everyone sits to enjoy their Iftar. It is a special moment and I’ve tried to capture it in this poem….

.

Breaking the fast

.

Hands raise bottles to dry lips, heads back,

Water passes through glued mouths to pleading throats

Long, quenching drink, water to thirsty cells

Heads bow over plates, fingers caress the texture

Hands carry food to the craving mouth, throat, stomach

.

Long moments of quiet, concentrated eating

Savoring the feel and flavour of hunger satisfied

The unity of food from shared plate,

Sharing knowledge of hunger,

Sharing the taste of righteous relief

.

Conversation mumbles around mouthfuls

Rise from food bowls to walk together to prayers

Beneath a sky alive with sunset

Air quivering with voices from Minarets

Relieved of heat and hunger, contented streets reawaken

.

.