Sketchbook  Kala Ramesh, IN

 

 

Haiku cowed low beyond recognition the darkening sunflower     on the hilltop we stand to watch the sun set each into himself     childhood garden I run to see my old hiding place     autumn dusk sounds of the temple gong reaches home     edge of a hill blossoms emerge from the earth’s bowl     the night sky falls with fireworks     storm-tossed birds father and son talk about women     she jogs past the champa blossoms her head bobbing

 

 

Tanka shells clutch on to the sands on the beach my thoughts, as they surface from the deep well of passions     into my emptiness you entered, filling it with blossoms an extension of me my baby     you see my tongue struggling to voice my thoughts . . . all I see on your face is that lop-sided smirk     the lucky few are the ones touched by muse does it matter day or night in tears or in joy?     every jogger's stride comes down heavily —this path for the ants flip into a tsunami-like fall

 

 

Kyoka all worrying thoughts race one another the long night to surface as wrinkles on my morning mirror     mannequins ho! so headless they must have been completely screwed to come out that way?     don’t slouch she always yells my back when I see her just straightens as if by remote control     hair dyed wrinkles under cover she sits daintily in the park a child flashes by yelling ‘hi grandma’     all his life he sits on the fence this all-knowing man who pinpoints other's mistake once the deed is done     he eats while talking fascinated I wait to see what falls out words or meal     HE goes ofF At odd places just Randomly Then he wrinkles his nose at this foul Smell

 

 

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