Confessional Poetry, Haibun, Haiku, Life, Love, Memory, Night, Poem, Poetry, Prose, Romance, Separation, Verse

Haibun 3

Distance

One of the three roads that led to my house may have been the longest, but I was sixteen, had a bicycle and could ride really fast. Putting all my weight on the handle bars, I could pump the pedals and whizz past the lime-washed houses, the landscape passing by in grey-green blur.

But back then, I liked to slow pedal down this road. Through the shimmering heat, I would see the road-tar turn black beneath the scarlet Gulmohar blooms… would smell the besan ladoos, long before crossing the sweet shop… would whistle to the sleepy mongrel by the side of a shuttered comic book store and then stop awhile to cheer the local cricket team.

This road wound past a kids’ park, hopped over a culvert, snaked past a kite maker’s workshop, stuttered near a century old banyan tree… and then gently careened beneath her balcony.

aching to read
the braille of her mounds –
sleepless night

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Haibun, Haiku, Life, Memory, Pain, Poem, Poetry, Verse

Haibun – Atman

Atman

Acutely aware of the hands that dig into my shoulders, the unbearable heat of a thousand flames licking my skin, the scent of sandalwood that fails to mask the smell of charred flesh, the whispers of how young she was, the slowly bleeding sun going down a banyan tree and then the certain reluctance with which they press a long wooden pole into my hand…

Almost as if this act is supposed to purge her out of my thoughts, memories, existence, breaths… I am asked to perform the rite of the skull.

early darkness –
the jagged flight of
a firefly

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