in Haiku style

source of image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/452611831281356120/

he had her covered

just enough not to conceal 

how alive she was

in sijo style...yet again

The last dance they had last year wasn’t really their last, was it?

Yesterday, one such moment, time ticked slowly, seductively.

Winter’s cold followed close enough, but warmth caught up fast with dance moves.

______________________

 

The moment of loud music – garnished with laughs – a taste of fun;

merriment-filled smoky air, those curious stares and we let go of pretending.

Winter's love, warm as mid-summer’s – will spring welcome it one more time?

______________________

 

A bold day like other days yet not as warm with the sky grey,

the cursed sun in wild hiding, nevertheless quite promising.

As it broke, who really did care what lay underneath? There was light.

remembering a test day

Through the glass on the door, I saw a black dog lazing on lush green grass; a rock beside and a few trees too. The sun smiled assuredly, and I saw signs of the breeze’s visits. To the left, the concrete stood firm and tall, as always, paying no attention to the arrival of peace. 

 

While inside, young hands wrote a paper; minds activated by questions. My words did their share of dance alongside, floating in air invisibly. All eyes in the room were down, my eyes all over compellingly. I paced the terraced floor up and down, right and left, my mind traveling miles to no end. The clock on the wall seemed unusually slow.

It was still autumn –

bright leaves dancing on the trees

one hour too long

in adapted sijo style

This winter, I look forward like I hadn’t ever before.

Sweet Autumn, forgive me this; an urgency has arisen.

The packed space - just too hot to bear; and the lethargy drives me nuts.

Is it me? I ask myself; and the answer’s far out of reach.

Morning breaks with rays of hope; yet when it’s time, I dread it so.

Not Autumn, surely you’ve been kind; as always and now, but it’s hot.

Terribly so I confess; seasons no bar, except winter.

The long days, the longer months, and the short nights my only time.

How eerie! Strangers’ eyes on me, as I talk about them and me.

remembering dad - a haibun attempted

There were no last words, just a weak wave of his left hand I remember. It must’ve been a message - perhaps wishing us well, when I think of it now. The look he gave us before closing his eyes to sleep that night was his last look at us; and we had no inkling of it. There had been no sounds of pain, the whole month that he was at the hospital. “Is your stomach aching, dad?” we’d ask and he’d say, “No.” The doctor had diagnosed colon cancer and told us to keep him happy for the remaining days that he had to live. He didn’t have much time, the doctor informed us. We told dad nothing of the diagnosis. The figure lying on the bed that we looked at early next morning was a still one, we discovered. Dad’s face looked so peaceful, as if dad was just asleep. And, we had actually drawn up a list of names of people we were going to request to come and see him, and chat with him. I stared at the piece of paper in my hands, feeling incomplete. My tears fell silently on it, drowning the names.

letting go of love

and those memories so fond

- a dear soul set free