By Disha Pegu
Some nights awful as the darkness
that intertwines until the moonless
sky,
Seeds dismay in the depth of mind,
like it could bring a curse to ruin
and die.
Intense is the coldness of the wind
before a rain,
While it whooshes through the "lofty
Borail" mountain.
Where the happiness of birds is merely
eternal at night, while they fly to the sky
higher,
It's a hope, they are born with wild and
free feathers.
As night gets darker, fog rolls
in, tethering to a chain of mystery,
Streets and homes get bathed in a
river of electric lights, it's a way to
escape the darkful misery.
Light is a sight of magic, birds in night
fly towards it, flapping their wings up
and down,
In the dead of night, while whispers
between the sky and trees are
swallowed down,
All quiet like the billow and breeze
before a tsunami, they act quietest at
the shores of the ocean.
Suddenly, those happier birds started
to drop from the sky,
Like a cyclone uproots a tree to fall
on the ground, laden it with sigh,
Oh, my soul feels faint! hovering
over the tears of severance,
Lamentably, it becomes a memory
of forsaken, woven by irreverence.
Author's note : "Jatinga" is a village on a ridge in Dima Hasao district of Assam. It is known for being the location of bizzare natural phenomenon of bird suicide and is often referred to as the "Bermuda Triangle" for birds.
By Disha Pegu
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