The Smell of Home

 Freshly peeled potatoes

Dipped in water in a discarded steel bowl 

Smell of new pastel colours on paper 

Petrichor of Kalbaisakhi 

Shiuli, Bel, Jui of seasons 

First aroma of Ilish Khichuri 

That one plastic lay with dust 

Perched in a corner, nobody dares to open

God knows what lies inside. 

Sound of the whirling fan 

Smell of old books and dust 

Alpona and Dhunuchi of Pujo 

Saree from your mother.

Morning conch shell Summer Kulfiwalas 

That creaking door you dare not close 

All that feels like home.

Sometimes missed or frowned at 

But never left behind 

In the lanes of nostalgia 

Every time you travel back 

Through stories of childhood.

© Suranya



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