In the heart of Bengal,
Where Buriganga's whispers blend,
Lies Dhaka, a city-
woven with threads of ancient lore.
Once, it was a city of mosques,
Minarets reaching for the sky,
Where Mughal emperors walked,
their shadows etched in stone.
My life lives amidst this bliss!
In the dawn of days,
Dhaka stirred with life,
Its narrow alleys cradling secrets
whispered by the wind.
Silk bazaars hummed,
traders haggled over bolts of dreams,
And poets penned verses;
under the shade of banyan trees.
My life lives amidst this bliss!
Ahsan Manzil stood proud,
a sultan's dream in pink hues,
Its balconies are adorned
with tales of love and longing.
The Buriganga flowed,
carrying memories of forgotten lovers,
Their whispers echo through time,
like ripples on water.
My life lives amidst this bliss!
Star Mosque shimmered,
its blue tiles ablaze with constellations,
Guiding pilgrims and poets alike;
toward the celestial musings.
In moon-kissed gardens,
jasmine petals fell like stardust,
And lovers carved promises
into the ancient walls.
I live amidst this bliss!
But time is relentless and unyielding,
Which wove a new tapestry.
Dhaka shed its ancient skin,
donned a modern veil.
High-rises sprouted like defiant-
saplings, traffic roared, and;
neon signs blinked, spelling out
the subtle progress in electric letters.
Now, Dhaka's canvas is crowded
—a symphony of chaos,
Rickshaws dance and their wheels-
spinning tales of survival.
The air thickens with ambition,
dreams rise like dark smog,
And the city pulses,
a heartbeat of resilience.
Yet, amidst the clamor,
hope blooms like monsoon flowers.
Community kitchens feed hungry souls,
And rooftop gardens-
Whisper promises of green!
Dhaka, a phoenix rising,
embraces its past and future.
So, let us wander Dhaka's streets,
tracing ancient footprints,
Listening to the echoes of poets,
traders, and lovers alike.
In this bustling city,
time weaves its threads,
And Dhaka dances—a poetic tale
of an ancient soul, reborn!
