My November comes conceiving sorrows Despite layers over layers, the **** shows Pregnant sorrows are like still borne children And still borne children, the fiction of the unaware Always stuck in that muddle of grief, Not begun; yet not leaving
Out here, November Nights gain an hour And, my sleeplessness too Y'day night I woke up in three tunnels of time As if, passing through some corridors and trapped Somewhere; for a long time
I feel an envious abandon to All those trees that felled their leaves Through the trees and felled leaves November gives me a cold lonely road To tread, more backwards than ahead...
Mired lines mar the November vision Can insinuations offer 'clarity on Intentions?' Fall fells a lot, below the bare branches Awaits a lot of leaves, crushed hopes and dreams I lay bare, awaiting this November to turn over