It's been a year and the streets are a little brighter, and daybreaks are a little colder, and everyone seems a little happier. But forgetting has become way harder and longer, darling, and Novembers still feel like losing you.

"Oh November, Oh November! Death, Hath In Cold Crimpson's Knashed!"..."Sweet, Sweet, November! Dressed, Hath Your Sons In Robed Black!"

"Your Wondrous Tales, Of My Moment Seemed, Thwarted!"..."Your Solemn Heat, Of The Summer Did Bring, Lament!"

"Of No Goose, Of No Goose, Flee, Shall Of Your Fogless Cloud Be Found!"..."Of No Grave, Of No Grave, Leech, Would Of Your Sanctuary Lay Ground!"

"And Somber Somber Days, Hath Us, Oh, Of Darker Times And No Brighter Rays, To See!"

the wind is taking more drags off my cigarette than I am. that's buffalo;
wind&concrete;&cold.;
I won't let you crawl into the gutters,
and die in the snow.
in the alleys of these long lost streets,
we keep trying to revive.

and I ask myself
if you'd let me fall asleep out in the cold,
six shots down & I don't want to know.
I'm still walking on my own,
against the cold, and keeping warm.

I'm taking good care of myself,
now that I know you won't do it for me.

A whole new light means
your spectrum rests indeterminate
silence alone  cannot  disguise
the sense of foreboding,
darkness parades,
platitudes never vivid
a plinth to past  glories
shorn whose rueful  possibilities
shuns new growth.

kissing away the spice of fall
i can’t help but want to remember
the way you glow brighter
with every passing moment.
sunrise starts the day
like a golden peach luminescense,
but the tenderness i feel
is no where near
to the love you give,
it is not that of the sun,
but from the warmth
of your beating heart next to mine,
burying in the sweetness of you,
like i am enraptured in quick sand
soaking novembers stroll,
it's rays caress me,
deeply planted on to my chest
my veins turn to roots of lilac vines
so i let you plant a kiss on my lips
and wish me a better tomorrow
cause your smile begins
to melt from my thought
and your greenhouse effect
affects me not

To November,
Thanks a bunch
for reminding us,
that the letting go
is the only way to make roads
for new blooms!

Every November I felt something new. November is full of change, nothing remains the same as before!

Acceptance: Somewhere in the month of November, I met a new person who changed me inside out..!! Embraced me with love, gave the warmth in those chilly days. We spent moments with happiness and shared our fears in the night sky, witnessing clouds uncovering the moon. Dreamt of good things, peace, and a bucket full of love. And November turned out as a happy month to me! No matter how much I tried but memories kept coming back, making me blush every single time..!!

Togetherness: Time passed really very fast, Again November came! I remember, spending days like never, contemplating each other’s hearts. Aimless drives, messed up schedules, movie marathons, street foods, and open bottles of beers. I found a home in him, a home of love with no limits and no worries. We promised to step together, holding hands in November, and to hang out till the November dissolves! And yesss we did...few Happy Novembers!

Separation: And then a few years later a day in November came with lots of new feelings..! Feeling of abandonment and betrayal just like dull and dark days. Crying in freezing night under that large yellow full moon but this time all alone! It felt cold, even the stars were extra cold to me; lights were so dim that paths were invisible. My heart was aching, and my trust was dissolved. I was miserable and pitiful! Always lost and struggling in the memories of past and present!

Learning: And now it’s again November I see blooming flowers and sometimes butterflies..! Red, Pale, Blue, Pink and White flowers. And it doesn’t feel like cold/dry or happy month to me!  and as I see he got engaged so, probably a month for him too!  Now I see November as the month of change and new hopes. This November taught me no matter how dry the weather is but you have to keep blooming, And I have realized that not everything is worthy of you! If something feels like a burden to you, just remove them and make some space for new dreams. And that’s the only way!!

It is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
And waltzes with her prince, The Fall Wind.
But when the clock strikes twelve,
Winter comes along with her December and January Winds,
Snatching up Autumn’s bright apparel
And clothing her in nothing but somber tatters.
Autumn keeps quiet, until the first rays
Of Spring’s long awaited sunshine
Touches the depths of Winter’s dark dungeon.
Autumn is showered with Spring’s rain,
And is coaxed into fashioning a new dress
With the same warm, golden tones of color,
But, this time, in a different pattern.
It is Summer’s sunshine, now, that assists Autumn,
With an occasional July thunderstorm to help form the new dress.
August passes by to give his opinion, and Autumn is finally ready.
For it is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
to waltz with her prince, The Fall Wind.

rykł gwałtu: czy śmiercí... sie boície?!*

the 1st world belongs
to western europe,
as is the poppy emblem...
but the 2nd world war?
you have no right
upon this platitude of
nostalgia...
you have no right here...
you don't belong here,
go **** yourselves,
and settle the flatlands
of belgium...
you, take you *******,
and your other colonial
subordinates from these
pages of reminder!
no, you don't belong
here, on the ukranian plains
of the flat-fields...
     you are not
commonwealth sorts...
i don't want you here...
  you are on your way home...
and no...
none of the commonwealth
bits & pieces ever worked
the construction site,
like the irish or eastern europeans
did...
         q a few sikhs...
but that's about it...
pakis make great
           mustafas of the "work"
invoked by the designation of
    a prior toward the
      authorirty of an imam...
                  i too never knew i
knew how to read...
   must be a literate donkey
                somewhere!
i'm trying to love the brits,
but given they're really into
their p.c.s.d. (post-colonial
stress disorder), i'll my stretching
it with nazis...
   please call me that...
please, please, please call me a ****!
it will make me remember
my great-grandmother affected
by nazis, all the better,
for your **** journalistic
***...
          please!
i'm begging you! call me a ****!
call me what my grandfather
called the ss-mann:
   herr-bite-bonbon...
   call me a **** you **** swine!
call it! call it!!!
             i dare you,
i want you to call it!
    i, ******* dare you to call it!
call it!
          speak your little jihad!
speak your little spell!
                            say it!
are you aware that i was the one
who liked the idea of collecting swords?
oh yeah...
   i own a hussar blade...
over 50 centimetres...
curved and all...
                    if i inserted the blade
via your ***, it would come out of your
mouth as a tongue;
say it... i want to hear it...
   why are my hands and the fingers
extending off of them, becoming
so itchy?
    i have a heart for a guillotine,
but no more, for a bed-fellow
in the form of a woman;
   how desirable does death become,
the least you account
for fearing it... how welcoming
the jest of recounting:
                novembers & septembers.

Nobody remembers but he won't forget
so many Novembers that he can't regret
and the few Decembers that  they managed to get
to light burning embers ,fond memories till date

Camping as only two members, night fires till late
Watching stars twinkle, eyes travelling interstellar
the great fables and love stories he used to tell her
drunk from sweet wines he coveted for his dream cellar
when he narrated inspirationals of guys like Rockefeller
and she convinced him he'd someday write a bestseller

The daily stroll especially in twilight
crazy dances right in the moonlight
the color and florets during any date night
the mourns of pleasure after star gazing till midnight
the promises of for better and for plight*

Nobody remembers but he won't forget
so many Novembers that he can't regret
and the few Decembers that  they managed to get
to light burning embers, fond memories till date

[Life]

I
A man with no shoes
walks by with a limp.

His arms -
covered
in tattoos
and scars -
are lethargic
by choice.

The biting
winter sun
delivers respite
from late December
northerlies.

He reeks of Franzia.
Redolent, it shadows
him, haunts
him like what he drinks
to forget.

His unkempt white beard
is stained yellow
around the mouth
from years of cigarettes
and no-shave Novembers.

He dons a jacket
- faded glory -
that is two sizes too small
and his pants stay together
like a couple for their kids.

Too proud to join
the Salvation Army
on Christmas Eve,
he finds his bench,
lies down

and survives
one
more
night.

II
A man in a suit
drives home in an Audi.

His collar
is stained
with cheap lipstick
and Chateau Lagrange
from last night's
late night meetings.

Angie, his wife,
waits anxiously
at the door
of their four bedroom,
three and a half bath
Victorian.

Her eyes -
still puffy
and red -
fixated up Swann St.
She is not blinking
and barely breathing.

The kids
have been sent to Grandma's
for the night.

They watch TV -
SpongeBob SquarePants.

The Audi
drives by a man on a bench
He looks asleep -
possibly dead.

The suit inside thinks to himself:
“That poor man.”