• Sunita Agrawal

    the sun clears away
    her name

  • suraj nanu

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

  • Tanvi

    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

  • Teji Sethi

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

  • Teji Sethi

    a tender plant
    pushes through the cracks...


    sunset serenade -
    the music lingers
    even after he leaves


    looks up at the sky -
    parched lips


    the longest word I make


    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

  • The Meek Shall Inherit The Mirth

    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

  • The Voice

    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

  • Vandana Parashar

    take me wherever you go driftwood


  • Vandana Parashar

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

    Yamadera Bashō Memorial Museum English Haiku Contest, 2019


  • Vandana Parashar

    stripped bare
    why do trees still love
    the autumn breeze

  • Vandana Parashar

    it all comes back
    to where it starts...
    water fountain
    you touch me once
    and move on... 
    flowing water
    behind closed doors
    the day silently slips 
    into night
  • Vani Sathyanarayan

    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

  • Vidya S Venkatramani

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


  • Vidya S Venkatramani

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

  • Vidya S Venkatramani

    migrant worker -
    asking the geese
    for the way back home


    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

  • Vijay Prasad

    endless repetitions
    of myself


    this belief called


    empty elevator...
    her fragrance and