Waiting for you… my November

You are my November

beautiful like the despair of autumn leaves

when the season takes a turn in deep sleep

like promises that I couldn’t keep

You are my November morning

shivers which scream of unsaid moaning

You are my November afternoons

akin to the zari border ripped of a benarasi sari

i had long kept to save up a memory

You are my November

but what am I, a question lingers

I am the winters waiting for November

in search of the tangerine hue of those cold evenings

rummaging the arid dreams in a desolate night

portraying the crimson shades of a shivery mornings

anticipating the flutter, quiver, shudder of a lone fire

i am a distracted flustered soul

a little in October

afraid of December

wanting to be ubiquitous

here and there, inside -out

i am a fragment of year

i am the sand that’s slipping between fingers

waiting for November

My November

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