The new year
sevai simmers
on the flame.
Sweet aroma
of milk thickening
in the pan, juiced
with raisins and
nuts, overhangs
the house.
A singing
procession of
men and women
drift through
the cypress shadows.
In their chorus
rings Tagore's
songs, welcoming
Boisakh, the first
summer month.
Conch shells
are blown.
Its echo thinned
by a splitting
wind, as Bengal
wakes to merrry
by the banks
of Ganges.
A pink strand of
the rising sun slants
through the skylight.
The milk is now
settled in the pan,
as I look for you.
Wouldn't you come
and check the sugar
in our new beginnings?
© Sobhan
No comments:
Leave a comment