Angelee Deodhar
Today ~for Aryan
Leisure Valley Haiku Sequence
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in the park leaves swirl twirl around to a shrike’s call through the bamboos in the cooling breeze a hint of sun a couple embraces under the weeping willow the colors of fall one ant comes to our picnic, then ant ant ant ant ant |
squirrels play in the now dry stream --the toddler’s laugh still afternoon the bamboo’s creak so like my own as we leave tree shadows lengthen into autumn ❊ |
Aachen Haiku Sequence...
Photo courtesy of www.justaplanerideaway.com
Four Haibun...
Refrain
right away
a second winter rainfall...
mountain home
-Issa
The fire fills the room with a warm glow. In the distance, the outdoor wind chimes tinkle and I am reminded of other hurricane lamp lit nights, when, as a child I sat in bed, listening to the drumming on the tin overhangs of the verandah, the occasional flash of lightning, growl of thunder, crash of branches as they fell or the thump of snow.
Now the wind is gentle, the chimes just tinkle softly…and through the night the rain taps out a hypnotic rhythm outside my window.
with a gentle whine
the dog begs to get
into my bed.................................................
Terminal Three
On my way to Gate 39 A, at Delhi’s domestic airport, I stop to peek into the Prayer Room. I have never seen a prayer room at an airport before. I do not know what to expect, perhaps a multi denominational niche or a mural with all the gods of the East and West depicted there.
There are two bare carpeted rooms, one for men and one for women. A sign instructs visitors to leave their shoes outside. Both rooms overlook the runway. No one is in either room . . . though I see a few cloth sling bags on the floor in the men’s prayer room.
I wonder how often these rooms are used and by whom . . . muslims at prayer five times a day, passengers fearful of flying, others going for some urgent work or to see someone who is ill?
I bow my head in silence and pray for my sister in law who just had surgery for her spine. As we board, the young lady next to me reveals that she has come from London to see her mother who is moribund with a cancer of the neck.
basil tea
one by one by one
the stars fade
..................................................Touch Wood
Coming to know that a friend’s brother has succumbed to cancer, I re-live my own loss, when the father of my son passed away three years ago with a secondary in the brain. I put on meditational music on my laptop and let the sound of ocean waves wash over me…distant gulls scream from another shore. Do those who leave us hear them?
art class--
a marble's path back
to kindergarten
...............................................Selerang Barracks
The arid landscape, an endless plain of fractured hillocks and cracked river beds as the distant horizon hovers on uncertain light, the whopping thrum of rotors scissors the sky and suddenly in a dust cloud kicked up by the helicopters’ wash, all hell breaks loose . . . the speakers repeat the staccato gun fire from the four corners of our home theatre system.
Was it like this for my father, a prisoner of war of the Japanese in Malaya? But over there the jungles were lush with bungarus, mosquitoes and fever soaked dreams . . .
buying carpets
the aromatics of Kashmiri
saffron tea
right away
a second winter rainfall...
mountain home
-Issa
The fire fills the room with a warm glow. In the distance, the outdoor wind chimes tinkle and I am reminded of other hurricane lamp lit nights, when, as a child I sat in bed, listening to the drumming on the tin overhangs of the verandah, the occasional flash of lightning, growl of thunder, crash of branches as they fell or the thump of snow.
Now the wind is gentle, the chimes just tinkle softly…and through the night the rain taps out a hypnotic rhythm outside my window.
with a gentle whine
the dog begs to get
into my bed.................................................
Terminal Three
On my way to Gate 39 A, at Delhi’s domestic airport, I stop to peek into the Prayer Room. I have never seen a prayer room at an airport before. I do not know what to expect, perhaps a multi denominational niche or a mural with all the gods of the East and West depicted there.
There are two bare carpeted rooms, one for men and one for women. A sign instructs visitors to leave their shoes outside. Both rooms overlook the runway. No one is in either room . . . though I see a few cloth sling bags on the floor in the men’s prayer room.
I wonder how often these rooms are used and by whom . . . muslims at prayer five times a day, passengers fearful of flying, others going for some urgent work or to see someone who is ill?
I bow my head in silence and pray for my sister in law who just had surgery for her spine. As we board, the young lady next to me reveals that she has come from London to see her mother who is moribund with a cancer of the neck.
basil tea
one by one by one
the stars fade
..................................................Touch Wood
Coming to know that a friend’s brother has succumbed to cancer, I re-live my own loss, when the father of my son passed away three years ago with a secondary in the brain. I put on meditational music on my laptop and let the sound of ocean waves wash over me…distant gulls scream from another shore. Do those who leave us hear them?
art class--
a marble's path back
to kindergarten
...............................................Selerang Barracks
The arid landscape, an endless plain of fractured hillocks and cracked river beds as the distant horizon hovers on uncertain light, the whopping thrum of rotors scissors the sky and suddenly in a dust cloud kicked up by the helicopters’ wash, all hell breaks loose . . . the speakers repeat the staccato gun fire from the four corners of our home theatre system.
Was it like this for my father, a prisoner of war of the Japanese in Malaya? But over there the jungles were lush with bungarus, mosquitoes and fever soaked dreams . . .
buying carpets
the aromatics of Kashmiri
saffron tea
Selected Haiku
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summer rain-
the toddler's mouth opens to taste it monsoon- a lone paper boat spins into rain song New Year’s Eve fireworks lighten the sky-- fireflies, the ground tattered cobwebs filter the warbler's song after last night’s hail nail art-- the guitarist's fingers flash autumnal colors one drop of dew on one blade of grass-- the world renewed |
pre dawn stillness
red brown leaves in the birdbath soundless evenings- a dwindling pool of frogs this summer the golden koi nudge blossom rafts further downstream pawn shop window-- a moth eaten Xmas tree the star still bright air-conditioned room-- listening to ocean sounds on You Tube Eid greetings-- the soaring silence of an eagle's song |
zen garden-
the clack of wooden clogs on wet flagstones bonfire sparks... fill the camp with shadows black against the night balloons ignored the toddler chases-- soap bubble rainbows a raven’s cry-- sparse rain glints gold in the afternoon play school umbrella day toddlers collect mud and laughter
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