November, month of bohemian melancholy, when leaves fall like rose petals

November, month of bohemian melancholy, when leaves fall like rose petals On empty boulevards, and the wind carries the scent of nostalgia, Some memories settle like a veil on the keys of a forgotten piano, Others linger, vibrating in the air like an evening waltz of shadows. You, pillar of illusions and unrestrained dreams, bear burdens with an ironic smile, In you, I pour my longings and reveries, like a poet singing his solitude, You are like an old café, full of whispers and cigarette smoke, In your month, I find the lost footsteps on the paths where love dances. I rewrite constellations in the sky of a love-struck night, searching for stars of yore, Drawing paths through the city that carries its mysteries under pale lanterns, The scene is vibrant, and my heart beats like a clock measuring moments of yearning, A thousand reasons tie me to gratitude, but also to a sweet illusion. Reflection awakens echoes of passion and regret, of love and dreaming, I am bathed in the light of a hope dressed in elegant attire, November, you are more than a season, you are a romantic poem, You are the anchor, the mirror reflecting the ephemeral and the eternity of dreams.