November Wordsworth

 My are feelings gone, faded, rather undone dead and gone days of delight unfolding, into nightfalls old of odd, nary a speck of season, but every single reason for a truth untold to unfold. Your love is a thing,  so dumb so contagious your heart is a clipboard, where simultaneously feelings are cut and pasted, from me her they were cut and in a twinkle if not only a winkle for her there they were pasted. In solitary solitude, so here down to earth I am confiding in my own aches, in serenity of a breaking heart once so pure now so stained counting scars not the stars only I used to count with you numbering the days, left for a heart to heal. Even though not okay, absolutely I am okay It's okay not to be okay, isn't this what life is all about? snippets of joy for happiness, those of pain for acquaintance forgiving and forgetting so will I the pain but not the lessons learnt. november (the black poet) *woes of sombre hearts* ©2023

Among the winds I was born, ferociously piercing deep my nostrils first, so hard I cried, for it hurt so bad. at an age, where the rest of the world was blurry, when all that I had was a sense of touch, for a worm thing around I searched  having found that warm if not two, I suckle my self to consolation, a few minutes later I drift into a world, where tales of flights among clouds, are told. By the winds I was natured, before a day's touch down, at twilight, to osculate the dawn, with a kiss of a silent death, fierce winds cut deep a skin of an unclothed torso amble along steep escarpments a hoe hoist over a bruised scapular, frigid toes bath in showers of dew, I cut through a fog so thick, so thick I can't see my face. Everyday is a brand new day, Unfolding with a new song whether, chirps of weavers of feathers, cries of a newly born baby, crows of a juvenile rooster, or maybe woes of a sombre heart. For as the sun rises far from the east, it's mighty rays seen as far as

Specks of light, safe and sound, before a temple bell is pound In meadows fireflies you hound, merry-go-round, round and round. Behind the scenes, of closed eyes hoist, in the heart of a blooming face, a smile arises, in winkles and twinkles opening doors to a brand new day. Good morning east  where the sun rises, and the west where it sets good morning north, the pursuit of headwinds, And south a birthplace of cyclones. Just like smoke, a prayer has risen far, as high as the Heavens; "may today be the maybe someday,  slap you with kindness of fruitfulness  paint you with a love of bountifulness,  anaesthesia of all aches and may you, continue eating from the tree of life, Amen."  november (the black poet) *behold a great light* ©2023

Yesternight, I broke off for a dream, far beyond the milky-way, In the heart of the galaxy just besides what looked like, the darkest of holes.  Went fishing among the stars, caught twinkle twinkle little, a fairly fairytale beauty sparkle in the darkest of a night painting my life with an ending; "happily ever after " Woke up right besides you,  just to find out that, twinkle twinkle was only you so here sits I contemplating,  on how I don't deserve you you deserve someone celestial.  The sun rises only,  when you wake up birthed in your smiles,  nursed in your heart  may we have dreams no more for you and I, are a dream. november (the black poet)  * Tenderly Soft* Maria, this was only for you!  ©2023

Winds of nightfall whisper, soft cold whispers of smoke, on their path to the unknown just passed there, where boldly I stand, in a fellowship of sugar coated lies, engraved deep in mythical vows of; "woligwa wendigwa." High I take a flight into euphory off thrusts of adrinaline beneath a wobbliness of sirens strobe lights of blue and red a twinkle in time, alone I stand, deserted and forsaken. Synapses in caress of the frozen shiny silver braced around my wrists brusquely says a coerced voice; "you have a right to remain silent, anything you say may be used against you in coat of law." november (the black poet) * tales of grandpa* ©2023

There I found you chasing after a friend,  unraveling things of old, among the so called,  lost and forgotten.  I ain't going anywhere,  only there where you are never the same without you  just like something lost, only in you I'm found. Some things never change, even after a test of time,  a thorough baptism by fire, over the years you still stand unchanged, just a lot better when with you, I love me better. You know me better,  a lot better than I or any other  there is a thing about you,  so pure as crystal,  like a mirror, only through you,  have I seen that true me.  Yet though not of the same feathers,  we flock together a lot has changed, in and around time has flown,  yet you remain that very same may you never grow up just be this little. november (the black poet) *tales of grandpa* ©2023

This is for you,  from here t o there  where your heart is,  gnarled in mickles of silence  a heart worn inside out,  in a hamlet of your unspoken.  In your dreamy excursions  You speak to my breathe, dance to my heart beat you wish if once I could say it but how? Yet just like me,  you never have ever said a thing.  You huff in your odd sniffles fall for my rising lips,  adore the other falling one.  in your dreams, you call my name stalk along among long hallways,  yet when we meet, you utter all, that's less than a whisper.  Bambi,  see how my heart wilts, will I once ever melt in your fond? brusquely, I adore you,  wish I could say it out but how?  yet just like you I as well I am, a secret admirant. november (the black poet) * woes of a sombre heart* ©2023

For how long, will I be kept awaiting  procrastinating along  elapses of postponements awaiting along a long  holding this love, to a pend.  Once clouds rise to the west, you tell of how yet it's to rain  when south winds blow,  you say, it's gonna be hot  but why can't you read signs, why haven't you have noticed me yet?  I've been through quite a lot  quite from far, hurt along see my sore soles and a few scratches on,  along quests for a lost rib, here ends I weary and helpless.  Nevertheless, I know less of there, where from you've been and perhaps, what you've been through, that matters not, what maters is, you and I in place,  could be the remedy. november (the black poet) *woes of a sombre heart * ©2023

Ddala, nsakaatidde! all around the kalevu like a lions mane, my kakoba extends far as high as my earlobes, somethings surely take time,  malodorous kabuvubuka, rest in pieces!  Here high I stand, young and handsomely, in snippets of ignorance far beyond acmes of teen age along the ruins of adolescence tiptoeing towards fortunes, of an unfolding hereafter. Upstairs and quite sophisticated boasting off a wisdom tooth, I mull over words of old mzee words that are making, much more sense now see me ripen, indeed I am ripe abassajja ebimuli bya Kampala, call me the typical mbulakalevu. november (the black poet) *tales of grandpa* ©2023

Romeo and Juliette were just like us knew nothing else, but to love you at your warm red lips, first was I kissed torn apart in hands of a sombre fate on thousands of other red lips and more I search for that same old kiss cast in thousands of paper planes latters you may even never read. Neverlike did the world care about us behind scenes of a melevolent intent handcuffed, thrown and ditched down, where tells of nights behind bars are told how I wish it took a little much longer though alone not,  as long as with you no matter where I could be, all could be right. Been here, there and everywhere, in search for an old thing ain't going any further more, scraping kisses off thous of lips and more just to find this samething ever more something contrary to that first kiss a thing that costs less of a pennyworth an inch closer to your lips cherry lips. You owe me you and everything, that I am without you, and everything that I only could be with you give it all to me, all that only be

 Just like then, when I saw you together I had questions, questions similar to those, running through your mind now as I speak. You might have queried, the strength, that made me walk, tearlessly and passed by  until I disappeared, out of sight into a mist of my own oblivion. I doubt if you could guess, how bad it hurt then, how deep the Incisions sunk as they cleft through wrinkles of a breaking heart. Not that didn't I care, I absolutely  did, neither didn't I not love you with my entire heart, trust me I loved you nor did it hurt not, it really hurt so bad I didn't leave for a thing that had to do with you,  It all had to do with me not that I didn't love you, I loved you far beyond how words may tell; "just that I loved me more!" november (the black  poet) *woes of a sombre heart* ©2023

 In the aches of a lingering night, under a darkened silver sky, trembling in threats of rain in caress of thunder lights  far across a bed so wide so void,  my skin aches for a touch,  so soothed so sound. Lone alone I stand, betwixt jumbled alleys  of insanity & sobriety in a night so silent so dark,  anchors my claustrophobia  gnarled in a midget room - left for wandering  lone alone I wonder, how fast I got used, to being loved by you. Drowning alone along, a pool of tears I menstruate you notice me not, neither the coerced woes of a soul, nested deep, the abyss of a heart,  yet to be torn apart -  so sombre, yet to fade along with the night. See how quickly prickly, hairs of my skin have turned "waggumbulizi ky'aba nakyo" how be you here, yet so far away? notice me my love! let me not- drift along with this wilt- hold me so tight, for I may be able not, to make it through this night. november (the black poet) *Woes of a sombre heart* ©2023

 Snippets of aurora gone unnoticed, just like yesterday  once a night again, lamps shine so bright, yet too go noticed not.  How and when,  did we get here?  we got here then,  when we stopped fighting, not against each other,  but for each other. You only notice,  the effort of a lamp, once it's switched off. you only crave,  more of a smoothie,  once you see the bottom. Maybe perhaps then,  when we stopped trying, to make things right between us then, when we had gotten so much used to each other. nov ember (the black poet) *woes of a sombre heart* ©2023