Saturday, March 13, 2021

Archive: Haiku by Pravat Kumar Padhy, Mann Library, Cornell University



Feb 28, 2021
 | AuthorPravat Kumar Padhy

so much to speak before
she left smiling

 

wild flower–
I breathe my
loneliness

 

melting away my pain— garden dew

 

the zero-shadow moment I am with myself

cherry blossoms—
the scent bridging
the long river

 

moonlit shadow
the old dogs lick
each other

 

blue earth–
lone robot on
the moon

 

deep dark space
many cosmic townships
with their own light

 

early dawn–
millions of stars
in dark

 

moonrise the sky from the oncology wing

 

 

early evening
the bat moves
moonward

 

Dog is misspelled
the child discovered
the Great

 

 

composing haiga–
painting sunlight
with black ink

 

 

a piece of chalk in my pocket first day of retirement

Valentine’s Day—
between you and me
a thin moonlight

 

 

flock of sheep–
the moon guiding
the evening

 

 

morning breeze–
the remnant rain drops
holding on to leaves

 

cattle herd
the one who walks
differently

 

deep silence–
planets move around
without noise

 

red carpet–

the monks walk

barefoot

old palace–
the guide speaks on
behalf of the king

 

 

foreign land–
amongst all strangers
a known moon

 

coins our ancestors exchanged a great length of time

 

 

first rain
the paper boat carries
my childhood

 

 

tea garden–
the narrow lane
leading to the sky

 

 

winter morning
the scarecrow with
a snow-cap

 

 

desert journey—
camels follow shadow
after shadow

 

 

sunrise–
the morning enters
without a knock

 

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