bricks, mortar, dull-white paint shedding
down the wall — the iron rods sticking out
like the full flush of loneliness — pennies
stuck to my palate — empty eyes stinging
with an evening demand for staying, clay
pots scattered, broken melon lips linking
skies with mouthed words, those unsaid
are never too dull – fuchsia pink – boiling
tricks, sweating armpits, a pulsing heat —
smoking, sweltering, steaming —
.
That kind of an evening — linking it up with Poetry Pantry at PU.
the leaves, brittle by the hands of the sun
sway like a thirsty bird in the afternoon loo,
the streets empty of travelers, a distant voice
of screeching tires, on the melting coal tar
and the gurgling of coolers exhaling a breath
that sustains life, as June heightens into
a derogatory mark for the residents of city,
.
I let a beam of the celestial torch to hit me
and burn that spot where my fears hide
so that they dissolve, dissipate, rather
finding their place in some others’ abode
(I engulf selfishness, as the entire world)
.
– soon I retreat back to the insides as sweat
slithers along our fates, down my brow,
there is a news, I have received a provisionary
admission letter from a college managed by
a council under ministry of tourism,
the heat flushes my cheeks, I’m deranged
while making a decision of such propensity,
there is a solemn expression I see in me
twinkling in my eyes, for in order to
catch a dream, I have to shatter all others
and leave them combusted into fires of sun,
.
a day would come (if it would, my mortality
glares at me, while the living alludes me)
when to look back, I wonder what I’d find:
the dead remains of those dreams I left out
or a face that is of me, beaming and mocking,
as the sun sets down nowhere when I’m asleep
.
The earth parched thirsty, desert sand blazing hot, waiting for those first clouds to make an appearance and pour down the nectar of life; every worm, every insect, animal, bird, aching for those drops to wash their body off, taking away the layers of mud and grime, they have coated themselves in, hiding away from the ball of fire, resting up above amid the blue expanse, still devoid of the white and grey monsoon shades, they long for.
earth’s mouth open up
waiting long for single drop
gazing up above
*The haibun is written in response of Ligo Haibun Challenge.
with prominent eyes
cicada hums a love song
debut performance
~
wears a bow of love
aiming for suitable mate
drums beat in stomach
~
a resurrection
its time to born once again
mother earth tears up
~
limbs sweat profusely
heat seeps into the body
hear cicadas’ sing
* The third haiku is based on the fact that some cicadas can lay dormant for as long as 17 years in the womb of the mother earth and one day comes when they come out again in their usual demeanor, which has become a symbol of resurrection.
* It was difficult for me to write haiku about an insect I haven’t got to see and listen to much. I have just faint memories of listening to the singing insects; so can’t be sure whether they were cicadas or not. Written in response of Carpe Diem # 232.
tip-tip-toe-tip-tip
music of rain on pavement
lost in memories
~
out of oblivion
clouds shade the sky in its cloak
the first drops fell down
~
a midsummer rain
relieving yearning pupils
a solace from heat
~
elevated Sun
drizzling clouds in the sunshine
look for the rainbow
~
the midsummer’s day
longest in glory and rays
washed down by the rain
~
looking through window
a play of the rain droplets
meditating life
* Written in response of Carpe Diem # 219
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