Thoughts of Singapore haunt me as I stare out of the window from my new house. I try to find the soul of the city in the scent of sand. Flashy cars try to outdo each other on roads and flyovers. Far above them are Dubai’s tall buildings. I shut my eyes tightly and imagine tall pine and maple trees in the place of skyscrapers. I replace carefully arranged flower beds with wild bushes and undo the huge mall for a small pond.
summer heat
a bird thirsts for rainwater
among plastic water bottles
The poem below has been written for Carrot Ranch Double Ennead Monthly Poetry Challenge No. 5, conducted by Colleen. This challenge starts with the double ennead of 99 syllables reduced to 48 syllables to 24 syllables to finally, a haiku (12 syllable poem).
Double ennead (6/5/11/6/5)
The pale green butterfly
seeks a pale green leaf
wanting to spread his body on his shelter
fluttering his wings and
breathing the leaf’s scent.
Breathing in a way that
only the leaf hears.
His tiny chest heaves and falls to the music
of the dark, roaring sea
and his eyes quiver.
The butterfly travels
alone to his land
of hazy dreams where he drinks from pale flowers
that has a shade of green,
the leaf unaware.
48 syllable poem (3 stanzas 4-7-5)
Pale butterfly
spreads his body on the leaf
breathing in her scent
His chest rises
to the music of the sea
as his eyes quiver
Butterfly soars
in dreams and drinks from flowers
the leaf unaware
24 syllable poem (1 stanza 6-6-6)
Pale butterfly finds home
in leaf only to chase
his unfulfilled yearning
Haiku (12 syllable)
flailing summer
he leaves life
finds home in mirage
I sit in the General Hospital, waiting for my turn when I hear a loud wailing. Expecting to see a child, I am shocked to see an elderly lady in a wheelchair, crying with her eyes tightly shut. I am deeply disturbed and could see that the other patients are uncomfortable too. This incident reminds me of an old cleaning lady in our condo whose eyes glistened as she told me how lonely she felt as her children and grandchildren lived far away. There is another instance of a man in our neighborhood who is dreadfully scared of dogs but has to walk his daughter’s dog, as she is too busy to do so. As I walk away from the hospital, I see an elderly man staring into space.
His treble
the language
of wrinkles
Hi Friends,
The Wooden Chair was the first haibun I had written. This was published in Contemporary Haibun Online’s July issue, 2013, Vol 9. Please find below.
My Wooden Chair
I stroll restlessly in my new house as trees outside are being chopped for construction. Lifeless new buildings are sprouting in the neighbourhood. I wonder mildly about deforestation as I lean back in my chair.
my wooden chair screeches–
memories of a
felled tree
Restless butterfly
indefinite search
for destination unknown
dark lane
a ghost in every breath
I take
The west wind howls in the woods, uprooting plants, tossing their nuts, and bending powerful trees. The branches nod to the teasing wind as nesting songbirds hold tight until the wind sails away.
The west wind now pauses by the pink splendor of the woods. Mesmerized, it calms into a breeze and crawls over each stem.
As the pink flowers dance in delight, the breeze finds its way to a corner, resting on an undiscovered flower. The breeze melts into the flower, enchanted by its texture and fragrance.
west wind halts
to trace each pattern
in a pecan leaf
I stare at the ceiling, wondering if it is 1 or 2 PM. At the corner of the table is a kerosene lantern, not used for many years. I light it and walk into the night. The creatures of the night hush at the sound of footsteps, but the persistent buzz of a bee holds my attention. The bee hovers around a wild plant; an orange bud. The bud sleeps on, unheeding the bee’s buzz and noise. But, the bee does not give up. It sits on the leaves and bends towards the bud, shaking it. Suddenly, there is a loud hiss. It is not the bee, but the flower. It opens up to reveal a yellow inner part, further illuminated by the lamp. The bee moves home and rekindles in my heart the hope to live.
Dawn
orange bud blooms
baby’s first word
call2read 