In the quiet nights of a Chittagong frost,
A secret of patience is never lost.
The Birun rice and the germinated grain,
Wait in the dark for a sugary gain.
No honey is added, no nectar is poured,
Yet a natural sweetness is richly stored.
Under the warmth of a blanket's fold,
The magic of science begins to unfold.
By morning it wakes with a creamy white glow,
As the enzymes of nature continue to grow.
A cooling delight for the soul and the tongue,
A tradition of old that is loved by the young.
Served with a sprinkle of coconut threads,
As the morning sun over the courtyard spreads.
It tastes like the earth and the wintery air,
A heritage dish that is uniquely rare.
From the hills of the city to the village gate,
For this fermented wonder, the people will wait.
Modhu Bhat is the pride of our coastal land,
Passed through the years by a mother's hand.