Sonargaon

by Hafeez ur Rehman



The connotation of flood remains unchanged, whether your delta drowns or mine. Back then, we could have used ferries to abridge doubts. Your currency could prevail my capital could move, spring could come at December’s fall. We could even share the blood bath. Now at the mercy of our own cyclones and not even feeling wet for each other, the bite is hard on the times that you nor I can roll.

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