Friday, 16 November 2007

It's despair and departure time.
The abandoned stares into the November air.
November air is always heavy. With crises and rain.
With swan-love-songs and dirges.
And inarticulate pain.

There's a nip in the air
The abandoned shiver in the shade of the clouds
November is busy. With politics and games.
Sporting and sportive
They're terrible with names.

And now for the conclusion.
You had a way with words.
November was terrible. To say goodbye.
Finalities and such-like.
Well, it's nice actually. I,too, love to lie.

13 comments:

Anurima said...

and you too have a way with words... :)

kingkartabyabimuhro said...

'Inarticulate pain' - that's what the slightly orangish November roddur gives rise to. Hemonter motoi tomar ei kobita jibanta bishadprotima.

Elendil said...

Damn good poem. Touches a nerve or two.

Arse Poetica said...

sunrita, toke gatta marbo. virtual existence =/= formal rhetoric.

Jadis said...

Awesome. So finally she returns to her forsaken blog.

ruby tuesday said...

the pangs of the innocent and incredibly intelligent, your perceptions are unique. (and this will sound more ridiculous put down in words than i'll like it to do.) i don't know if i should call this one a tragedy entirely. because then you'll turn around and talk about potty. strange little girl.

Arse Poetica said...

oh we're all strange enough, and screwed up in various degrees and ways...
votutterfun!

panu said...

yeah its cold.

Arse Poetica said...

nah, not really, shudhu bhorer dike

Opaline said...

Hain, hain, khub shundor. Ebar post na korle bhalo hobe na kintu.

Arse Poetica said...

okkay phine

Royal Bengal Tigress said...

Naice..How much?

Arse Poetica said...

ei royaaal bangaal, how much will you give? :D