November Rains...

Endless it pours…
North and East, seen and come,
Such, far and long, has been its course…
It finds its way, through the busy day,
Into the waves of Mother Ocean,
which has been its source…
Yes, all I can say is I agree,
Flawless, it soars…

The mellow thoughts,
Vacant brackets of mind…
Gloom, foretold, experienced upon ridicule…
Soars, singing those songs, from the high wet Eastern shores…

November winds,
And autumnal leaves,
Reminders of decay, which say
Life once bloomed,
And dirt now grooms…

Mellow, yes, mellow again,
For the fortune was beheld in uncanny veins…

There is a call, from those high mountains,
Reaches my ears,
Intense, those vibrations in the
Darkness of the night…

The pen glistens,
As I verse, my random thoughts…
Droplets trickle, filling the sill,
Slow and patient through a laboured wet grill…

I lie cold, bereft of notions,
I lie observant of the deathly silence…
Is it for me to speak,
Or just watch us mutate?
Well, perhaps be a part of it…

I watch, amused,
How my fingers move,
For the few ears which hear,
And the eyes that observe,
That which is near…

The lonely darkness,
Lays appealing…
The drums, the violins,
The keys of that board,
All blend in harmony with
These November rains…

Humanity slumbers,
Insomniacs don’t, ailed by their woes…
But all that live through
The freezing cold,
All that go back
To their tropical hold,
Are these rains…

Yes, it vibrates…
Bringing the autumnal chords to rest
In that sweet cold winter’s nest…
Reprieve, it does stay stealthy as ever…

Alone, and at peace,
What beseeches, one cannot see…
Neither happy nor sad,
This soul stays aloof,
From all that is earthly and un-free,
And why yes, bad…

For once, this ink fails to stop,
And the heart and mind waver not…
Blank, empty solitude,
Blissful retreat of my fortitude…

New, yes, new and untested,
With this heavy heart,
Blank and foreboding has there been
this untold future’s start…

This music has tried,
To convey to my heart…
What I write is just,
a beginning or a humble start…

These November rains shall again remain,
Etched, complex, divine remains…
Yes, this moment shall be cherished for long,
As it is not always, that one
Becomes soulful and strong…

Yes, it is not always, that one
Finds deep and assuring warmth…

I have penned enough verses,
To talk of this cold moment…
It seems now, that I have said,
Conveyed that message,
Of laughter and joy, and aye,
of those wet pains…
That which was shown to me,
In the warmth of these November rains…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju