Noboborsho

Winter fades and a gentle breeze 
rustles the bare leaves 
clinging onto barren trees, 
dry leaves that fell in the fall 
crunch beneath soft footsteps 
as the earthly smell of rebirth floats through the air. 
Spring comes— 
bright and warm, 
the krishnchura tree 
outside my window 
blooms in abundance 
a sea of orange 
radiating warmth, 
and when you glance upon 
the towering tree 
you notice a flock of chorui playing lukochuri amidst her slender branches, 

and your heart soars with joy. 
Falgun brings— 
blue skies dappled with ivory clouds, 
soft winds and the kolahol of bird song; love blooms 
just like the rosebuds 
I planted in my modest garden; 
between the warmth and the flowers, 
boshonto brings 
a renewed sense of hope. 
The clear skies soon turn dark and cloudy, as boishakh brings with her 
monsoon storms  
that wash away all our sorrows and worries. Petrichor 
rising from the soaked earth 
lingers in the air, 
making me wish
I could bottle up this 
heavenly aroma 
and carry it with me 
forevermore. 

Thunder roars 
and flashes of lightning
illuminate the shadows 
as droplets of rain 
dance up and down the pavements. I long to watch the pittar patter of rainfall as it mingles with the teeming tides of Jamuna. 

The pages of the calendar turn seasons change 

and so do we— 

our hopes 

and our dreams, 

our sadness 

and our longing, 

weave together, 

entwining within us. 

As another year comes to an end, we witness more violence 

against our brethren, 

for simply daring to exist, 

Our identities 

a perceived threat, 

our existence 

a smear of imperfection 

amidst a world of carnage. 

But we shall not bow down 

to oppressors, 

like the ancient bot gach 

we must stand our ground 

and face the storm 

head on. 

We shall resist— 

We shall persist 

so one day

our people 

can breathe freely 

in our jonmobhumi. 

As we enter 1433, 

with hope 

and aspirations, 

we must not forget 

that Pohela Boishakh 

is not merely a celebration, 

it is an embodiment of resistance of finding joy 

in the chaos of darkness. 

Mongol Shobhajatra 

is not simply a procession 

it is an embodiment of unity and connection. 

May love guide our path forward 

May joy bring us together. 

Shubho noboborsho 

and long live resistance.

Kashfia Nahreen is a passionate reader and an aspiring writer who spends her days cuddling with her cats.