The streets of Bangladesh were filled with people & rickshaws,
As I gazed upon the roads, I was greeted by the newly familiar.
The roots of our home, traditions, and culture, everything remained same as years ago.
Rain poured heavily from where I stood,
« We’ve arrived home » said my father
I lifted my head and beheld the skies of Dhaka, « This isn’t my home » I thought.
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Author:
Hopeless lover (
Offline) - Published: July 8th, 2023 06:02
- Category: Short story
- Views: 2
Offline)
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