The Tweeting Haijin

old bricks the peepal still finds space to make home (Published in Cafe Haiku on 18/11/2022 as a haiga)

 dusk light looking for fairytales that don't end (Published in Cafe Haiku on 19/11/2022 as a haiga)

 velvet lining my blank canvas blank still (Published in Cafe Haiku on 22/11/2022 as a haiga)

 Keys to a bicycle. Photographs of grandparents. A chewed block of wood, with the teeth marks of a dead pet. A diploma, tattered at the edges. My baba-suit, enshrined in crinkly tissue paper. A large collection of mismatched socks. first cry my newborn father wipes his face (Published in Cafe Haiku on 01/12/2022)

 highlighting the gulmohar’s redness koel calls pooja flowers the rain gods claim them for their own non-violence… our Ganesha makes do with fallen flowers flower shop — I just stand by to watch the bees last gong – the bare maidan bursts a-flower (Published in Cafe Haiku on 17/04/2023)

 Morning Dog … is what Myshka is not. The thought of a walk in the dawn chill fills her with dread. She stays curled up till the sunbeams light up her nose. evensong the koel’s notes sleepier * Jerky Justice Unlike the fable, the monkey (I) ends up overfeeding to keep the balance between the senior and junior retrievers. sibling envy the aggression in the tail wags * Moving On “You don’t make me wet anymore” she said drily. dried petal now who was it exactly? (Published in Cafe Haiku on 29/04/2023)

winter clouds this silent scream in my eyes The loo stinks, the tap runs and can't be closed. The risk of dying of a urinary tract infection or asphyxiation is still the same. The sole policeman visible, young and unarmed, is ostensibly guarding the ladies' first class. The rather bright lights are a change though, but they seem to make the place seem a wee bit less crowded. Seem. There are people sitting on the platform, waiting for their trains. Many in their Sunday best. Popcorn-sellers, peanut-sellers, kulfi-sellers are trying to get me to shed some money towards them, even as I wait for the samosa-seller. yellow leaves the old woman sweeps up yesterday It's getting on eight (time for the Titwala Fast to leave), and last-minute boarders are jumping in. The popcorn-seller is taking his last chances before he moves to the 8:13 Khopoli Slow. I don't know how many of the guys around me are pass-holders or even bothered to buy tickets. I do know the police didn...