It is November and it is raining
And the poet inside me
Has lost the words to praise the beauty
The rain washed all the words and I am lonely
A bird inside a cage who tries to find the way out
All hungry and thirsty
But it is November, still it is raining
The isolation is prevailing
And the heart is beating with every drop of rain...
I am waiting for it to stop
To see the rainbow in the sky
And to see the bird flying high
But it is November
And it is raining
Will the sun ever shine again?
Or in this detachment shall I always remain
And I ask my poet; why it always rains
When we want to behold the sky
"Your heart is not pure"...comes the reply
"Let it be washed by the rain
Let it be pure, why you refrain
Free the bird let it explore the heavens
Give me back my words
Or must you earn everyone's abhorrence"
I listened yet I am silent
It is not the time, it is not the moment
To free the bird...to fly, to explore
Because it is November
And it is raining.
