Road side trees look stunned,

arms hanging limply at their sides,

staring mournfully at leaves and branches torn off,

flung into puddles during the furious dance

so enthusiastically performed

just moments before.

 

New born puddles, still rippled with confusion

of rain drops just arrived,

flung through charged space

they now clinging together,

settling slowly into smooth-surfaced calm.

 

People reappear with eyes on grey sky –

sky stares blankly back,

with an innocent, ‘I don’t know where that came from’ look.

Air is stunned into silence,

sense of hearing over-sensitive

after the assault of thunder

and wind cracked branches.

 

Wind has torn away straw and leaves and paper

and wet stuck them in odd places,

posters face down in roadside puddles,

straw in angular patterns across roads

signaling the recent disagreement

between wind and water.

 

A chicken clucks inelegantly

across a blinking puddle,

a nervous tic.

Goats move out of their tight formation,

giving up their positions at centre

of backs-to-prevailing-wind groups.

 

Ruffle-feathered crows

watch shrewdly from twisted wires and branches –

profiteers looking for opportunity in chaos.

With a tremble and a shake

normality returns –

slightly hung-over, but strangely satisfied.

 

Dhaka 2012