My native blood runs
along with the rush of wind
carrying the aroma of biryani and curry
the colors of the saris
bring out the vibrant rainbows
as the women walk
while their children whine
for a lick of kulfi
and the husbands bargain and argue
over the price of gold

As dusk arrives, the traffic swiftly grows
I hear the ripples of my tongue all around
the sweet sound of a hummingbird's music
when twilight approaches
my parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles
all go back to their own nests
as do I

Deep into the night
I hear the rustling of the leaves
the swaying of the trees
their whispers calling me back once again
and that night I dream
I dream of my beautiful country, Bangladesh,
which also lies in a little place I found
my home New York City