Chawk Bazar, 2019

The fire of Muspelheim rages

In the dark alleys where for ages

Ancient arts of beauty have been stockpiled

By the masters of money and mind.

Alchemists of the new generation

Stack artefacts beside puddles, potholes,

Never-ending streets without emotion,

Where one once could see blossoms of roses.

Newborns' noses sniff

Out a confused whiff

Of perfume

And burned flesh -

Unfamiliar for their senses,

But not for occupants of countless committees.

Poof, goes the bricks,

And the cement,

And iron wicks,

And the souls.

Flames of Tartarus leap out of its realm

And enter the curtained bedrooms upstairs,

Climbing the dancing fumes that overwhelm

The forgetful nation that loves to mourn

(And drool for drama)

But never to act.

The Lady scrubs her wrists.

Scrubs as the dead rises

And falls

And Rises again

To make space for more.

Eau de Mort, made in Chawk Bazar.

Towhidul Islam Khan is Senior Lecturer, DEH, ULAB.