Small dreams

On the heart of a place where heather blossoms,

Dreams of scattered bodies and burnt heath

Against the walls where children live

to dream of eating sugar and bread

while their brother lies in a concrete ditch

brews cold fury we cannot forgive,

we have come too far to repent now.

Far away in a land where guns loot

The scarred wounds of a newborn child,

There are dreams of living to see another day,

Another night that fades to strong daylight.

And the dreams to fight til the end,

Where clean water cruises past the earth

Plagued with blue,

I see tiny stars bursting in flames

in the horizon,  where there was once a house

Brimming with laughter; and the aroma of

freshly cooked Maftoul

floated in the air and through the perky windows,

that are now tarred with the stench of revolting black smoke

and powder; small dreams live to see the spirit die,

small dreams are just passersby.

Snata Basu is an aspiring poet from Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her work mostly centres on passionate, personal bindings. She is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at North South University.