THE HAIBUN GALLERY hosts: Shalini Pattabiraman & Shobhana Kumar

27th December 4th post

After all the fanfare of life and celebrations, as the year draws to an end, one becomes quieter and turns inwards for reflections.

Eight Hours

Angelee Deodhar

At medical school, they never taught us how to break bad news. Comfort the patient, stay calm, do not fear, pain is only in the mind, or in that phantom limb. You're better says the physician, and with a dracula smile orders more tests - blood samples, x-rays, echoes, referrals - if better why all these investigations. You tire easily so you must take more oxygen, at least eight hours a day. Tied to the oxygen cylinder, an umbilical cord to survival dream of snow in the mountains and the ski slopes where we christied. Snowbound inside the white expanse of quilt, my knees tenting it into mountains over which only my fingers climb, play chess against myself remembering Edmund Hillary's quote:

Those Himalayas of the mind are not so easily possessed.

There's many a precipice and storm between you and your Everest.

Even the cicadas are silent, the hiss of the oxygen, the ticking clock, his gentle snore, the cocker whimpering in her dreams - moonglow intrudes. Earlier in the evening we'd watched a comet. With its flamboyant tail it whisks across the sky leaving other stars staring. In my mask, I am that comet, that space traveller racing past galaxies to keep a tryst with eternity.

needing more oxygen

I break the bad news

to myself

breathing easier

those eight hours

unconquered Himalayas

This is the last in the series featuring Angelee's work.

We invite you to share a haibun that captures the complexity of saying farewell. .....

We are delighted to open the comment thread for you to share your unpublished haibun (within 300 words) to be considered for inclusion in haikuKATHA monthly magazine.

Previous posts featuring Angelee's works: 3rd December 13th December 20th December


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