top of page

THE HAIBUN GALLERY: 21st August 2025. Padma Priya - Guest Poet

Updated: Aug 21

host: Rupa Anand

mentor: Lorraine Haig editors on haikuKATHA: Shalini Pattabiraman, Vidya Shankar, Firdaus Parvez and Kala Ramesh

Guest Poet: Padma Priya

A Thursday Feature

21st August 2025 -


THE HAIBUN GALLERY  August 2025 Padma Priya


Don't forget to send us your best haibun between1-20 September, to be considered for publication in November issue of haikuKATHA.


<>


Doorways


I open the door to silence. I open the fridge to silence. I open the cupboard to silence. I switch on the TV, there is not enough sound. I listen to music, there is not enough solace. I switch on a light, there is so much space. You were everywhere, even when not in a room - there was comfort.

 

storm light

the flickering link

to distant sky

 

There are those who understand and those who simply frown. How can you be so sad over the loss of an animal. I hold back my tears. More than a dog; family. I gulp and continue to re-walk where your paws loved. Every tree, every slope, every fresh bud. Was that shadow, you returning to greet me?

 

heart thread

without a leash

searching for home


Joanna Ashwell

haikuKATHA, Issue 34, August 2024


Prompt

The above haibun by Joanna Ashwell is sensitive and grief-filled. Clipped sentences with words depicting a grimness open the haibun. The light that comes later opens up the prose to reveal the context. The narrator talks about people being empathetic or not empathetic towards her grief and concludes it with a heart-wrenching haiku. 


The haibun is layered, allowing for multiple interpretations by the reader. 


Prompt one: Shall we try to write a short haibun using small and crisp sentences along with normal prose and see how this mosaic reflects a mood?


Prompt two: Grief is something that everyone encounters in some form or the other. Can we write about it and how one reconciles in his or her own way? 



Haibun outside the prompt is welcome.  


I eagerly anticipate your haibun. 

Thank you. Padma Priya

<>

Once again, a beautiful prompt, Padma.

I love your two-winged prompts!


_kala


******



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Writers are invited to submit one unpublished haibun per submission window.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 open only during the submission period. 


********


The Haibun Gallery continues as is.

We will be having editors and prompts, and your sharing…


110 Comments


#1 The Long Interval

Even in saltwater, the salmon carry the pattern of their birth stream in their flesh. After crossing thousands of miles, they begin turning toward a memory without form, a map made from silt and time. I wonder if my own return will be like that. Not a homecoming in the traditional sense, but a slow recognition. The brief flare of a streetlamp I once passed beneath. The crackle of cumin seeds in hot oil from a kitchen. The sharp scent of jasmine opening at night. And the sound of my own name spoken without effort. There is no need to be known. There is no need to explain where I have been. I only want to touch…

Like
Replying to

Thanks a bunch, Padma! Glad you liked the haibun and haiku.

Like

Thank you, Padma, for sharing Joanna’s poignant haibun. And thank you Joanna.

Like
Replying to

Thank you, Marilyn. So glad you liked it.

Like

1  feedback welcome


Sylvan 


The morning after my brother’s funeral, I venture out my back door to fill the bird feeders and  notice in the nearby river a mute swan swimming slowly towards me.  I place some seed on the ground between us and retreat. After a brief pause, and with great effort, the swan comes out of the water.  Nearly as tall as me, his snow-white body contrasts with his bright orange bill and black feet.   


winter clouds the wing beats of loss


Marilyn Ashbaugh 

USA

Like
Replying to

Absolutely touching haibun. Very poignant and deep, Marilyn.


There is so much space to ponder. The tangled depths of loss and grief is presented in a brilliant manner, while bringing in the Sylvan surroundings that can heal a troubled soul.


The swan a symbol of transformation, wisdom and peace comes out finally—like a soul that emerges after grappling with grief. The swan being 'as tall' as the narrator, and coming out with 'great effort' suggests the immensity of grief and loss that is to be worked through. The narrator shows it it a subtle manner.


The monoku at the end is equally beautiful bringing it all together. "...the wing beats of loss" is haunting actually. Loved the haibun.

Like

Mini haibun:


Waiting

for her death, for the last five years an ever-enduring prayer on her lips or so it seems, she rises with a smile to welcome the sun god, Aditya.


song the cuckoo strikes on a two-note repeat


#1

Kala Ramesh


Feedback welcome.

Edited
Like
Replying to

That's my mother, Larraine. Even at 95 she hasn't lost the charm for life. I'm happy this sentiment came through.

But you are a sensitive reader.

Thanks a lot for being here.

Like

mona bedi
mona bedi
Aug 23

Post #1

23.8.25


Revised thanks to Alfred, Joanna and Lorraine


The missing moon


night river

the uneasiness

after a dream


Rain comes down in sheets. Dark clouds enshroud the night. Far away lightning strikes. A dog cowers down behind a burlap sack.

Inside the house she sleeps soundly. He on the other hand is restless. A certain discomfort creeps up his left arm. His breath doesn’t flow smoothly. He tries to wake her, but she is in her own land of dreams. He reaches out for his phone. Suddenly he loses control. The thud goes unheard as the lowering clouds rumble.


his side of the bed still warm lingering shadows


Mona Bedi

India


Feedback appreciated:)


Original:


The missing moon


broken…


Edited
Like
mona bedi
mona bedi
Aug 25
Replying to

Thanks!

Like
bottom of page