dewdrops
the sun clears away
her name

old passions—
I wonder
if they wait
in the craters
of coloured rocks

beach side...
dolphins dive into themselves

autumn hues...
i miss his arms around me

roadside stall-
flies assault the jalebis

terrace view...
people brim up the street

weekend -
pakodas dance in the fry pan

raging waves...
she was left soaked
in her tears

bitter cold...
the day he walked out
on himself

sleepless nights...
her mascara stains the pillow

Christmas morning
he seals it with a kiss

the horizon...
sun melts into the sea

treasure hunt...
rats gang up inside
the dustbin

the sun rises
above the horizon . . .
my guru teaches me
                        to look
     and look beyond

a tender plant
pushes through the cracks...
cemetery

sunset serenade -
the music lingers
even after he leaves

papeeha
looks up at the sky -
parched lips

scrabble...
the longest word I make
‘lockdown’

old drawers...
I find
‘a new me’

his last trip
on waters of the Ganges...
a floating urn

you and me
together yet apart -
beads of a rosary

Some people excel at making cracks and some are eternal scapegoats. There appears to be a general consensus that I fall into the latter category.

It is a common sight, me grinning sheepishly as some devilishly clever fellow makes all the witty remarks and steals the thunder. I bring out the worst in people, or the best depending on whose side you’re on. As you can well imagine it makes me very popular with wiseacres who are always on the lookout for punching bags. I once thought that a wiseacre was an excellent investment in real estate. Silly me! I guess that was never my area of expertise.

Parties are places where wits abound. Perhaps it has something to do with the spirit of the occasion. Particularly the type which comes in bottles. Once under the influence of a single malt I dared to try my hand at sarcasm. Or so I was told when I was sufficiently sober. I couldn’t believe my ears. The victim of my razor sharp tongue apparently couldn’t believe his either. Suffice it to say that whatever I did say to him, this bloke has been avoiding eye contact with me ever since.

psychology class...
the sedating effect
of a lecture

Most often, seminars and meets turn out with a motley gathering where individuals await with bated breath for their names to be announced. Once their poetry reading is done, a mental switch-off happens and the monotones continue until recess is announced.

soothing music...
the new comer
recites a verse

As I listen to the bespectacled gentleman, I feel a strange peace descend on me. I notice goosebumps on my hands. His rendition, poise, intonation and presentation is impeccably perfect.

sultry afternoon...
sudden wind
cools

take me wherever you go driftwood

what's this fuss
about being light skinned...
raven clouds

Yamadera Bashō Memorial Museum English Haiku Contest, 2019

stripped bare
why do trees still love
the autumn breeze

the origami
butterflies flit around -
finally my son
            learns to fold
his shirts and trousers

massaging my ankles
with camphor and oil
wish I was
        a toddler snuggled
again on grandpa's chest

twilight skies —
nightfall on the edge
of a bat's wing

temple bells toll
for evening prayers—
in the peepul
the parrots fall silent
screech by screech

migrant worker -
asking the geese
for the way back home

      meditation
a rock dove inches
   closer to me

sacred grove -
trees braided together
with vines and prayers

rain upon rain-
mother's orchids
still facing skywards

deafening rain
              mother's call
asking if I have reached home

summer dawn-
a dab of sandal paste
on my fore-head

fire-walking pit -
the smile of a deity
from a neon billboard

alone...
endless repetitions
of myself

trapped...
this belief called
i

empty elevator...
her fragrance and
i