I’m back in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Discovering, rediscovering and reminiscing. For those who have been along for part of the journey, I hope this poem will also stir up old memories.

Talking Trees, Again

Talk to me, talk to me,

Tell what you see;

Construction in courtyards,

Beyond circles of trees.

Behind high walls, across busy ways,

Where beggars beg and street dogs stray.

I’m back to hear more; about rickshaw races,

About boys selling tea and all the old places.

I’m back, I’m back,

I think I might stay.

.

I stop and look up, to see how you’ve grown,

I remember our memories, shared and unknown.

Talk to me, talk to me,

Tell what you know,

Where are they gone,

The uncrowded corners,

And the intelligent crows?

.

There’s sameness and changes mixed in a chaos,

Faces I remember grown older, or gone,

The cloud of dark dust that softens the sun.

And I’m happy to find, the park trees still talk,

If you know how to listen and know how to ask.

.

Dhaka

Nov 2023