reaping darkness a sickle moon

 Akitsu Quarterly, Winter Issue 2021 (Eds: Robin White, Evelyn Lang)

 http://www.wildgraces.com/Akitsu-Quarterly.html

 

 The haiku is featured in ‘Last Train Anthology’ edited by Jacquilene Pearce. She presented the Photo-haiku at Haiku North America Conference, 15-17, October 2021. The photo was taken from the Amtrak train running north from Seattle to Vancouver. I am grateful to Jacquilene for her kind gesture.

 https://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/cho-17-3-table-of-contents/haiga-gallery-17-3/

CHO 17.3, 2021 (Haiga Ed. Ron C. Moss)

 https://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/cho-17-3-table-of-contents/haiga-gallery-17-3/

CHO 17.3 2021 (Haiga Ed. Ron C. Moss)

 Wheelchair

It is mid-autumn. My three-year-old granddaughter rides on her new tricycle.  Suddenly she twists around and waves to an old lady in a wheelchair fondly calling her Nani. The woman reciprocates with a flying smile.
 
I glance for a moment and murmur to myself as the gentle evening breeze sways in the garden. 
 
thoughts 
cycling through the journey
this early evening
twinkling stars
and the rising full moon

Contemporary Haibun Online,16:3  December Issue 2020 (Ed. Tish Davis)

https://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/cho-16-3/pravat-kumar-padhy-wheelchair/

 

 

 Anamika

There is still a glare of light in the midnight star-filled sky. The river silently flows with murmuring muse alongside the hillock. The ‘Orphanage Home’ stands alone amongst the silent trees.

Children undergo morning Yoga under the open ground. The trainer recounts the number from the register. A new entrant has been added to the list barely a half day ago. I stand silently at the corner staring at the face of the tiny girl. Her eyes sparkle as if narrating something. She is asked her name for which there is no answer. Unaware of any self-identity, she might have moved from street to street, grown-up under the abandoned roof and open sky.

Fondly the teacher approaches her and calls her ‘Anamika’. She feels suddenly as if something new in her possession as others cheer her.

seldom I know

how to name it

I follow afar

the forest songbird

the muse leaves behind

Note: The name Anamika (female) comes from the Sanskrit word which means, "nameless." 

Contemporary Haibun Online, 17.1 April 2021 (Ed. Tish Davis)

 

street dog--

an old man shares

his silence

Presence  #70, 2021 (Ed. Ian Storr)