The seasons of Assam
February’s Assamese heart is conflicted like the bride’s who is about to be a wife where its neither summer nor winter Leaving the trees confused Who are neither grey nor green The lazy sun unsure Whether to show up or not It was a February when we didn’t meet March, cursed forever to be in the shadow of April, Is dusty and parched, no poet to sing paeans Existing only to make way for bohag Yet, some defiant flowers bloom Like the ill-fated precocious child Violated by hungry bees, birds and bats As the disturbed, sad visitors bade goodbye to the unruly backwaters of Luit , when I too paid a visit It was a March when we didn’t meet. The first rains greening everything Cacophony of rambling colours all over Nasonis busy brushing the dust off their muga mekhela, gam kharu and madoli Dhoolias polishing their leather and blowing their pepah As the all-welcoming April ushered in the deadly guest once again As I glided down t