Bordoisila

What’s sadder? The memories or the people? Which leaves the deeper, lasting scar? Hard to say, but memories linger, Long after people wander far. I think back to those March days, When Bordoisila’s winds would rise— A storm from Assam, fierce and strong, Marking the season beneath gray skies. With Bordoisila’s mighty cue, We’d await Bohag Bihu. The new year dawns, with nature's grace, Renewing life in every space. The wind’s wild roar, untamed and bold, Etched fear on faces pale and cold. It tore through everything in sight, But hand in hand, we faced the night. Do you recall those stormy eves, When darkness seemed too thick to leave? In shadows, we lit candles bright, Fear and joy danced in their light. I watched the rain lash at the pane, Dry leaves spun wildly in the rain. Lightning split the heavy skies, Our hearts beat fast with every strike. As Bordoisila sang her tune, We found warmth beneath the moon. The storm’s fierce music filled the sky, And memories of those times won’t die. Where are those winds that used to sweep? A fleeting gift I long to keep. Not until those years had passed, Did I learn memories are what last. As time moves on, the winds grow still, Yet memories rise, against my will. They flood the silence, soft but clear, Whispering of all we once held dear.