• Kala Ramesh

    today I think
    of all my yesteryears
    with you ---
    but were you ever with me
    at any time at all?

    having no god
    I answer to none
     ... but my shadow
    what was it like
    in its previous life?

  • Praniti Gulyani

    shooting star...
    nothing really 
    to wish for
    first champagne..
    a new fullness
    to the moon
  • Sanjukta Asopa

    dark night -
    the bridge floats
    in stars

    bat wings -
    the night spreads
    tree by tree

    on the balcony...
    doodling daydreams


    its patterns
    in the dry reeds -
    the wind

    old fort -
    rose hips cover the gashes
    on its walls

    Sanjukta's work has appeared in journals such as The Heron's Nest, Sketchbook, Frogpond and, recently, Acorn. She lives in the sleepy city of Belgaum in Karnataka, India.

  • Aashika Suresh

    row after row 
    of peak evening traffic -
    low-flying raven

  • Acquaintance

    Radhika’s Grandma had a loud, resonating voice that could travel through four walls. The right pitch for my Gran who was hard of hearing; both of them would engage with each other from either side of the wall running between the houses. That apart, the wall also let in water from each other’s leaky roof tiles. Everything changed when Radhika’s Grandma decided to renovate the house with stronger pillars and plastered walls.


    shapeshifting clouds-
    meeting the neighbour
    on Facebook


  • All The World's Scents

    The sourness of mountain surfaces and the crunchiness of raw, plain-land breeze. The velvety strips of night, specifically encircling the toughness of a moon crater. All the world's scents that thrive on your fingertips. Ah! The ever-changing aroma of the Northern Lights, so cold and mystical, and the defined truth of summer afternoons, the stickiness of Jalebi molasses, which leave translucent patches on my palms.

    And then, I shall venture into wildflower evenings, where the "wildflowers" pose as botanical representations of the myriad hues of sunset. Over there, I shall ponder over my character. But, the character has departed, leaving me to stuff the world's fragrances into mere words.

    a misty moment
    of migrating birds

  • Ashish Narain


    thunder rolling a joint by habit


    question marks the spot he fell


  • Bhawana Rathore

    I root myself
    back again

    moonless sky
    all the stars
    disappear too

    the shadows of grass
    lean back

    autumn equinox
    the weight of thoughts
    drowns each step

    twilight song
    the everlasting ring
    of a temple bell

    moonlit sky
    the stillness of water
    in my thoughts

    a cuckoo’s song
    the aroma of rain
    in my coffee cup

  • Bhawana Rathore

    tree house
    the stories left
    out to rust


    billowing clouds
    what's already dark
    becomes darker

  • Bhawana Rathore

    enough for today
    I close the diary
    chanting Om . . .
    into the unknown
    the sun disappears 

  • Chatterjee, Geetashree

    battle of words
    we forget
    who we are


    fork in the road
    I leave the choice
    on the driver


    nocturnal visit
    the rat knows
    where the trap is


    rain dance
    the squirrel's dash
    to the next pole

  • Das, Basant Kumar

    wrong train
    every passing station
    my destination

    children at play
    paper birds slip through
    the open door

  • Dutt, Gurpreet

    how far the wind rolls
    each seed

    Wales haiku journal - Spring issue 2018

  • Estuary

    I enter the temple-monastery and sit on the cool floor. I breathe in the quiet for a while, gazing at the Buddha, the way his right hand is encased in his left hand in a Yoga Mudra, his thumbs pointing up. Why are his hands open, I wonder.

    in but a palm

    The ancient walls are embellished with colorful murals and paintings of the Jataka Tales, and stories of many other Gods and Goddesses I don’t recognize. And at a lower level, scenes from the day-to-day lives of common men. I also notice several golden lines radiating out from the edges of the entrance, branching several times, interweaving between the images to form a golden maze. Then I notice a blissful monk sitting in the corner.

    prayer wheel
    with each turn
    a new smile

    I go over and sit with the monk. “I wish to know the secret of your joy and serenity,” I say. In reply, he opens my clenched fist, presses something into my palm and closes my fingers over it. Then he gets up and leaves. I open my hand to see what he has given me. My hand is empty.

    With a smile, I get up and head towards the door leading out of the room and its gilded walls and images.

    Mt. Everest
    wondering what lies


  • Ganni, Gowtham

    sunrise and I the curtain


  • Ganni, Gowtham

    tiring day –
    i capture the whole fort
    in my camera

    mountain peak

    i find
    no moon

    sunny day —

         people busy
    chasing shadows

    between two hills

                     a cloud
             turning into night

    not spring yet

    a cockerel crows
    away my dream

  • Ganni, Gowtham

    spring predawn—
    the janitor sweeps
    the night away

    Heron's Nest Vol XX, # 2: June 2018

  • Gauri Dixit

    the rustle
    of fallen leaves
    forest music

    a climb
    up the unfinished staircase
    oh! the moon


    on the dark terrace -
    a thwarted kiss

  • Geetashree Chaterjee

    breaking news …
    the other half of the globe
    still in sleep


    jasmine night
    a whiff of childhood
    in the air


  • Gulyani, Praniti

    shifting house...
    mother wraps Buddha
    in my ragdoll's blanket


    dolphin show...
    dad tries putting a hoop
    around my nose


    winter pond...
    a chameleon's tail curls
    around a cloud