november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind




Sometimes, from a safe distance,
I stare at my frozen lake
of situations
I refuse to address.

If I squint, I can still
make out their distorted shapes
beneath layers of
vain endeavours and
wasted opportunities.

I wonder, how long
will I be able to maintain
the harsh environment
that traps them
in their taciturn suspense?


© Novemberchild
photo credit: Photo by Jonathan Goerke from Pexels

On the Edge

Remember all those cute promises
and good intentions?
And yet here we are,
standing on the edge
of a precipice once again.

Counting sleepless nights,
shed tears, and wasted efforts,
only to realise the balance
will never add up.



© november child
photo credit: Black Station via Flickr




Sometimes I feel them reaching
out to me,  all those pieces of me,
little dust motes that settled in
the places my heart left behind.

Sometimes I hear them calling
out to me, all my sighs, prayers,
and doubts, tiny dandelion seeds
that got carried off by the wind.


© november child
photo credit: Feggy Art via flickr


She holds on to possible futures
in crystal balls,
and hangs dream catchers
to trap demons.

She always heals her bruises
in bubble baths,
and her screams are muffled
by loud music.

She holds her heart together
with safety pins,
and covers her scars
with coloured band-aids

She dims a mean, harsh reality
with candle light,
and wards off cruelness
with chocolate.

She never fights back
for fear of the costs,
the curse of being born
with a gentle soul.


© november child
photo credit:
The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 280


Canvas is patient
accepting red hot anger
in violent splashes,
enduring my blues
in teary streaks,
beholding black despair
in quivering brush strokes,
always silent, always forgiving
to the emotional turmoil
until it’s all but vanished
under new layers of outbursts.

© november child
photo credit: renu parkhi via flickr



Stop redefining my boundaries
just to convince yourself
that you did not breach them.

Stop diminishing my pain
just to reassure yourself
that you did not hurt me.

Stop deconstructing my defenses
just to demonstrate
that they have been useless all along.


© november child

photo credit:



Your words still echo in my mind

your touch still echoes on my skin

I wait for them to subside
so I can remember
who I used to be


© november child

photo:  artist unknown


Eye Of The Storm

Your mood is dark today,
mirroring the gloomy November sky.
Brooding has furrowed your brow,
your angry grumbling
conjures up storm clouds.

A true descendant of Thor,
thunder echoes in your voice
and lightning flashes in your eyes.
Dark energy crackles in the air,
surrounding you like a dreadful shield.

I take a deep breath and brace myself.
Warded by a four-leaf clover
and armed with a cup of tea
I enter the cave
heading for the eye of the storm.

© november child
photo credit: Chris Bird via flickr



Recurring thoughts
have carved
deep canyons
into my mind,
my tranquility.


© november child

photo credit: curtesy of Pix to Words

in response to: Tranquility ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #57

The Ego

In the gloomy space
you share with no one,
this sinister exhibition
of self-inflicted pain
you try very hard to hide
even from yourself;
in the introvert’s
chamber of torture
you meet it again,
the unwanted guest.

Its talk is convincing,
in a repetitive chant
of cunning words
as cutting as daggers,
it tilts straight for your core.
It probes your resilience
with stinging tendrils
of whispered gossip,
deviously planting
the seeds of doubt.

It leans heavily on flaws
blown out of proportion
and though you realise
there is no authenticity
to its random rambling
and the wild accusations,
your feeble mind is
so apt to listen,
so ready to forfeit love,
so willing to let it break you.

© november child

in response to: The Sunday Whirl Wordle #265


photo credit: KingOfWallpapers




If we were to shed all our skins,
peeled off all our layers,
got rid of everything
that seems to define us
what would remain?
Who would we be?

Would it help
to take a long look at ourselves,
and muster up the courage to
be brutally honest with ourselves?

Would it help
if we recognized all the restrictions
we impose on ourselves?
Or those that we let other people’s
expectations impose on us?

Would it help
if we saw all those walls we build
around ourselves?
The ones we use to shield us
from our own fears and insecurities.

Would it help
if we realized all those activities
for the diversion they are
to keep us from looking inside
and finding our truth?

Would it help
if we got rid of all those layers
that were never ours to begin with?
And if then we only kept
what we chose of our own  free will
and  what was chosen with love

would that finally be the real us?

© november child
for Mistspell
photo credit: bambe1964 via flickr


Had those withheld words
propelled into the air
in a cloud of furious ash,
their downpour might‘ve altered
these parched fields of anger,
spurting acceptance by now.

Had they risen from the depths
of their complex hide-out
in a scorching lava flow,
their escape might’ve collapsed
this cavern of rage,
granting forgiveness in time.

But those unspoken words
keep simmering inside,
a bubble of magma trapped,
increasing in volume
in a brimming chamber,
the inevitable eruption in sight.



© november child
 photo credit: Photo via VisualHunt


muscles strained
from reaching out
across the void

fingers pricked
from sewing up
the edges
that have frayed

grown so tired
of grazing my skin
on another wall

© november child
photo credit: Eugene Peretz via flickr


Missing 2397635073_97d7e8e7fe_z

What was missing in me
I took from you
from a need I was only


the sting of a lack
you stole from me
what was missing in you.

Now we’re both screwed.

© november child
photo credit: AJ Schroetlin via flickr

Do You?


Universe 14681861562_f6e65c67c1_z

Do you think
in a language
that possesses a beauty
not from this world?

Do you dream
in colours
that life just can’t
seem to provide?

Do you?


© november child

photo credit: Rodney Campbell via flickr

What If

stairway 6854531099_05b7a49f9c_z

Here’s to all the

What Ifs

Please kindly
go to hell
and while
you’re at it
take my regrets
with you.

© november child

photo credit: damon grosso via flickr


hope and faith expressed

through fervent prayers spoken

to false gods often


november child

photo credit: David Ohmer via flickr



Bird Song

From a cage
his voice trills,
although voiced in beauty
a song of misery
it was.

With clipped wings
unable to soar,
while truly harmonious
a song of longing
it was.

Well versed in the tune
I hum along
a song of sadness
it was.


© november child
photocredit: Aaron via flickr

Keep On


If you just keep on
walking down the road
it might lead you
right out of the immobility
that keeps you stuck in a place
you don’t want to be in any longer….

If you just keep on
dancing through the night
maybe it will keep you
far away from the nightmares
that fill your dreams with a threat
you don’t want to experience any longer….


 © november child

in response to Developing Your Eye – Day 2 – Street

photo taken with Samsung Galaxy A7




Looking at you
is a reminder of
childhood days
when looking through
a kaleidoscope
was a miraculous thing.
– all prettiness –

At first the mind is blown
by the projection
of pretty colours
like those of a peacock
fanning its tail.
– all gaudiness –

I found myself
caught between
wondrous delight
and childish awe
for a while,
then I got bored.
– all pretense –

© november child

photo credit: duncan c via flickr

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