There used to be a tree in the corner of this alley. Now only electric poles are left.
If I walk too long by myself in this city I sometimes loose myself.
The store-signs and halogen streetlights illuminate the footpath along here; evening shoppers, couples and working people all-around. This is one of the pulse points of South Dhaka.
On the foot overbridge I feel the cities pulse. The crowd rush in the semidarkness. Some silhouettes stand and watch the roaring river of light flowing below, hypnotized by its speed.
Clouds gather overhead. I decide to return. The first rain of the spring hits me when I reach the corner of the alley. Power cut and a cold black veil falls on the alley. I take refuge under the tree. I smell the scent of raindrop hitting the hot earth and listen to the Murmuration of the leafs.
Later that night I remember, they cut the tree when they laid the pavement.
This is part of a series of Micro Fiction based on the mundane slices of my daily life here in Bangladesh. Other entries in the series..
Image taken from here