today I think
of all my yesteryears
with you ---
but were you ever with me
at any time at all?

 
having no god
I answer to none
 ... but my shadow
what was it like
in its previous life?

dark night -
the bridge floats
in stars
 

bat wings -
the night spreads
tree by tree
 

rain
on the balcony...
doodling daydreams

 

its patterns
in the dry reeds -
the wind
 

old fort -
rose hips cover the gashes
on its walls

Sanjukta's work has appeared in journals such as The Heron's Nest, Sketchbook, Frogpond and, recently, Acorn. She lives in the sleepy city of Belgaum in Karnataka, India.

row after row 
of peak evening traffic -
low-flying raven

Radhika’s Grandma had a loud, resonating voice that could travel through four walls. The right pitch for my Gran who was hard of hearing; both of them would engage with each other from either side of the wall running between the houses. That apart, the wall also let in water from each other’s leaky roof tiles. Everything changed when Radhika’s Grandma decided to renovate the house with stronger pillars and plastered walls.

shapeshifting clouds-
meeting the neighbour
on Facebook

The sourness of mountain surfaces and the crunchiness of raw, plain-land breeze. The velvety strips of night, specifically encircling the toughness of a moon crater. All the world's scents that thrive on your fingertips. Ah! The ever-changing aroma of the Northern Lights, so cold and mystical, and the defined truth of summer afternoons, the stickiness of Jalebi molasses, which leave translucent patches on my palms.

And then, I shall venture into wildflower evenings, where the "wildflowers" pose as botanical representations of the myriad hues of sunset. Over there, I shall ponder over my character. But, the character has departed, leaving me to stuff the world's fragrances into mere words.

windowpane...
a misty moment
of migrating birds

thunder rolling a joint by habit

question marks the spot he fell

barefoot
I root myself
back again

moonless sky
all the stars
disappear too

highway
the shadows of grass
lean back

autumn equinox
the weight of thoughts
drowns each step

twilight song
the everlasting ring
of a temple bell

moonlit sky
the stillness of water
in my thoughts

a cuckoo’s song
the aroma of rain
in my coffee cup

tree house
the stories left
out to rust

billowing clouds
what's already dark
becomes darker

battle of words
we forget
who we are

fork in the road
I leave the choice
on the driver

nocturnal visit
the rat knows
where the trap is

rain dance
the squirrel's dash
to the next pole

wrong train
every passing station
my destination

children at play
paper birds slip through
the open door

dandelion
how far the wind rolls
each seed

Wales haiku journal - Spring issue 2018

I enter the temple-monastery and sit on the cool floor. I breathe in the quiet for a while, gazing at the Buddha, the way his right hand is encased in his left hand in a Yoga Mudra, his thumbs pointing up. Why are his hands open, I wonder.

enlightened…
everything
in but a palm

The ancient walls are embellished with colorful murals and paintings of the Jataka Tales, and stories of many other Gods and Goddesses I don’t recognize. And at a lower level, scenes from the day-to-day lives of common men. I also notice several golden lines radiating out from the edges of the entrance, branching several times, interweaving between the images to form a golden maze. Then I notice a blissful monk sitting in the corner.

prayer wheel
with each turn
a new smile

I go over and sit with the monk. “I wish to know the secret of your joy and serenity,” I say. In reply, he opens my clenched fist, presses something into my palm and closes my fingers over it. Then he gets up and leaves. I open my hand to see what he has given me. My hand is empty.

With a smile, I get up and head towards the door leading out of the room and its gilded walls and images.

Mt. Everest
wondering what lies
beneath

sunrise and I the curtain

tiring day –
i capture the whole fort
in my camera

mountain peak
i find
no moon

sunny day —
     people busy
chasing shadows

between two hills
                 a cloud
         turning into night

not spring yet
a cockerel crows
away my dream

spring predawn—
the janitor sweeps
the night away

Heron's Nest Vol XX, # 2: June 2018

the rustle
of fallen leaves
forest music

a climb
up the unfinished staircase
oh! the moon

lightning
on the dark terrace -
a thwarted kiss

breaking news …
the other half of the globe
still in sleep

jasmine night
a whiff of childhood
in the air

shifting house...
mother wraps Buddha
in my ragdoll's blanket

dolphin show...
dad tries putting a hoop
around my nose

winter pond...
a chameleon's tail curls
around a cloud

long journey he promises two raindrops