1433 Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

First Day of the Bengali New Year—
traditions, or their metamorphosis:
temple visits with new account books
draped in red,
prayers to the goddess for business,
a feast—mutton or fish,
or a table at 6 Ballygunge Place, Aheli.
Summer—birds searching for water,
cars streaming with families and friends,
in a corner a tree shedding flowers,
white, all white.
As if for ancestors
who had their New Year once.
Continuity revives another day—
they were busy; now they are gone.
Not to summon sadness on the first day,
yet all business runs to the last.
The pace, the swing, the turn, the sneak—
heaven or hell: pluck, luck, the click.