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So much of everything is just whispering to seasons

Night sheds to day

that sheds to morning again.

No November can nod at incoming rain. 

That is just a lot of clouds clashing

About 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 the sky.

The wind freely associates a memory to November.

When fire dances on traffic signals, 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)