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.

(Full poem in caption)

- Sobhan