Monday, January 7, 2013

Remembering Dibrugarh...

 by Dr. Smita Anand Sriwastav



She is a blushing bride at dawn, cheeks tinted in cerise with vermilion streaked between parted locks by fingers of sunshine. There is a piquant aroma in her breath emanating from morning yawns of tea leaves. Bejeweled in dew, she wakes up stretching her limbs as fragrance of withering hursinghars caresses her sleepy contours waking her with a kiss. Her moods are like the tempest’s whimsy whose strain echoes in dulcet notes of sitar in the breeze, when drizzles fall from skies to pepper the trees in wet pecks. She dons verdant apparel always, draping it over lush realms and her laughter is heard to reverberate in the rippling gait of the Brahmaputra cascading down into her embrace with whispered covenants of fertility. She is a woman through and through painting her versicolor dreams on the clouds for all to see at dusk. At night she adorns herself, dreaming of her beloved, in satin quietude and ornaments of asters and fireflies,
her raven mane braided in fragrant orchids. The distant blue hills are her tiara softly glowing in daylight to proclaim her as a queen on nature’s throne...