THE HAIBUN GALLERY: 11th September 2025. Anju Kishore - Guest Poet
- Kala Ramesh

- Sep 11
- 2 min read
host: Rupa Anand
mentor: Lorraine Haig editors on haikuKATHA: Shalini Pattabiraman, Vidya Shankar, Firdaus Parvez and Kala Ramesh
Guest Poet: Anju Kishore
A Thursday Feature
11th September 2025 -
THE HAIBUN GALLERY September 2025 Anju Kishore
Geethanjali Rajan
World Haiku Review, Summer 2021
longing for sun longing for rain, Red River, 2023
Father’s Lime Tree
One of his hobbies was making preserves – pickles, juice, jams, and jellies. All
the vegetables and fruits we bought would end up on the table in sterilised glass
jars that he cleaned and prepared himself. The whole process was fascinating,
not to mention the aroma that greeted me when I came back from teaching.
Cinnamon, cardamom, molten jaggery, fenugreek, pepper – the house was
always alive with taste.
The lime tree dad had planted in the garden seemed to want to encourage this
pastime as well. The harvest was bountiful and the neighbours were quite happy
to receive bags full of the organic yellow fruit.
And then came the diagnosis. Slowly, the cooking came to a stop. In a vain
attempt, mother and I deciphered his recipe and made a batch of lime preserve.
August rain –
this year’s harvest
a tad bitter
By the third chemo, the limbs of the tree just dried up one by one and burnt
itself down.
where you once stood
the shadow
of an axed stump
***
We have all written about loss. At first, the emotion in the writing is raw, the
voice is vulnerable. Over time, we learn to step back from its immediacy. The
narrator becomes a witness. The evolution only makes the writing more
powerful because it creates space for the reader’s own memories, experience,
and perspective.
I have chosen the above haibun from another of my favourite haibuneers for
your writing prompt this week. Observe the way Geethanjali employs a
restrained hand to express how loss affected the family. There is a certain build-
up before the actual loss, a feature seen in books and films too before a
favourite character dies. Also remarkable is how she has let the lime tree
describe the father’s failing health and ultimately his death. This week let’s use restraint. Write about loss in a way that you leave it to the reader to feel it.
Anju Kishore
Haibun outside the prompt is welcome
<>
Thanks, Anju.
Waiting to see what our poets come up with!
_kala
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IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT NOTICE
NOTICE
Dear Haibuneers
Starting from March 2025, we at haikuKATHA are moving on to a new submissions format for haibun submissions. (Only for haibun, please note!)
Writers are invited to submit one unpublished haibun per submission window.
Kindly note the submissions calendar.
1-20 March, to be considered for publication in May
1-20 June, to be considered for publication in August
1-20 September, to be considered for publication in November
1-20 December, to be considered for publication in February
All accepted submissions will receive an email to confirm their acceptance by the 5th day of the publication month.
Your unpublished (only one) haibun should be sent to:
The Google link will be given in this space soon. This form will only be available during the submission period.
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The Haibun Gallery continues as is.
We will be having editors and prompts, and your sharing…

#1--13Sept25
Doctrinal Weight of the Rio Grande
a buddha’s voice
through the kalpas—
dharma stream
The gates are closed at Elephant Butte Dam. No more water this year, just a naked bed of silted gravel. The banks have already begun to yellow: sacaton grasses and yerba mansa first—then arrowweed, hackberry, coyote willow. The warblers and phoebes have moved on. A lone roadrunner flares her crest as dawn breaks above the indigo mountain.
lotus sutra
the suchness
of flow
--Billie Dee New Mexico, USA
(feedback welcome)
When the Moon doth Shine as Bright as...
Day. At the end of the day . A massive day for disturbance of news. I settle back into a black and white film with a child actor star. Back in the day. In one of those days. A day evoked by a Faure tune that lulls you back. Back to a slot where you listened with mother. That was her name. Tales and rhymes. I sing out the words from the black and white print on the page in my head .
'girls and boys
come out to play...'
discordant handbell
I glance from the screen to the trees outside as they fade into twilight.
two collared doves
come and go…
Such a poignant and captivating haibun. Thank you Anju for sharing and the lovely prompt.
Minnows
How fleeting they slip away through the waters of memory. No fingers can grasp the form. There are no words that remain to fill the gaps. All images fail to capture the noctilucent shimmer. Searching for a shine where the essence flared.
hope clouding
an inlet of sky
I’ll find you there
Joanna Ashwell
UK
Feedback welcome
#2
The embers of dreams
Two stepfathers. Both seemingly OK with the young gay man he was becoming, which should have been a huge plus. He only wanted the one who had walked away from fatherhood. He taught himself indifference, to feign interest at the dining table, to reserve his words better accepted on the silent pages of scribbled poetry. Scribbled was a good word for life in general. Silent was another.
For his namesake, he waited patiently through three serious encounters with The Big C. Waited for "the" phone call: "He's dying. He wants to see you." And when finally he did die, all hope evaporated in that one last heartbeat.
Stymied from the beginning, he had never nourished…