Monday, November 12, 2012

November Prose

A demure sun caresses the sky this morning
There is November in my room
How they dance -
Her dainty, pastel feet
To a faint autumnal song
The last of the Harshringaars
Have fallen on the window sill -
Fragrant and orange-white in the wintry mist
The potted lilacs have begun to get busy
The world within their reach
Waiting to wear purple
My fingers pleasant and playful in the steam
From today's morning tea with extra ginger

Soon it is going to be December -
A month that has become warm
With a love now legalised
When the stars have hung so low
That our shadows have caught them alive -
Their light calling us home
Their heat conceiving soon-to-be-born dreams

But it is only November now
So, I'll think only of November
Of the Lilacs, which like me, will soon be ready
Of the feet which will walk up to December
Of the fingers which will wade through the foggy pages
And look for a November prose.