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So much of everything is just whispering to seasons



Night sheds to day.
Then sheds to morning again.

No November can nod at incoming rain. 
That is just a lot of clouds clashing
on who will reach earth first.

Rooting beneath is a butterfly,
feeding on great marigolds.
There is so much dance.
                               We forget footsteps of air in sky.

The wind freely associates a memory to November.

When fire dances on traffic signals and I see wait.
November’s NoAmber collection adds
one more memory: dissolves biscuits and sips her tea.

There is casualness in the way we approach weather.
A street bathes in wind,
and that of all –
has just stopped the sea from flying away.


(Inspired from Kaveh Akbar's poem My Kingdom for a Murmur of  Fanfare)

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