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THE HAIBUN GALLERY: 6th November 2025. Neena Singh - Guest Poet

host: Rupa Anand

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


Lorraine Haig has stepped down from being a mentor for this forum. Triveni Haikai India and The Haibun Gallery are grateful for her exceptional feedback and responses over the last few years.


Guest Poet: Neena Singh

A Thursday Feature 6th November


Introduction:

Walking the Line Between Prose and Poem


The haibun is a quiet miracle of form—a blend of prose and haiku that invites us to pause, notice, and reflect. It offers the intimacy of memoir, the compression of poetry, and the tension of what’s left unsaid. As Bashō, the master of haibun, once wrote: “Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.” In that spirit, I invite you this month to bring your journeys—outer and inner—onto the haibun path.


Through prompts, I offer you to explore moments of silence, memory, transition, and displacement. Each prompt is a door—open it with curiosity, and let your prose wander, then pause… and let the haiku breathe.


Your writing can be raw or refined, grounded in the present or drawn from the depths of memory. What matters is the authenticity of your voice and the integrity of the experience. And remember—sometimes what you leave unsaid is just as important as what you write.



Week 1: The Shape of Silence — the weight of the unsaid


I look forward to walking beside you as we explore these tender, potent spaces. Let the haibun surprise you and us.


Week 1: The Shape of Silence


Prompt: Write a haibun about a moment of unspoken emotion—grief, longing, awe, regret, or joy. What was not said? What lingered in the silence? Silence is often more powerful than words. This theme encourages exploring internal landscapes or shared quiet moments between people.


Examples by Roberta Beary  

Genetics. Here is the web page https://rattle.com/genetics-by-roberta-beary/


Genetics


Your eyes are big and round like your father’s

but while his are the color of the Irish Sea

yours are the color of the muddy fields

on my father’s land

fit only for the peasants who worked them.


abortion day

a shadow flutters

the fish tank


***


Longitude and Lassitude


My fingers find the leaf from my last walk. Asleep in my raincoat pocket. 

I smooth its broken veins. Lift its muddy green to my face and inhale. 

Its scent is a postcard from a long ago lover. Who promised to stay in touch. 


empty hammock

between two trees

summer’s end


*



Irish Twins


We share an attic room. 

In the corner is an old double bed 

that smells and sags on one side. My side.

Late at night I hear my heart beat. Loud. 

So loud he will hear it. He will think my heart

is calling him up the attic stairs. 

His footsteps are heavy. 

He smells of old spice 

and cherry tobacco.

My eyes shut tight. 

I know he is there. 

I feel his weight. 

Never on my side. 

Always on the side she sleeps. 

When the bed-springs sing their sad song

I fly away. Up to the ceiling. My sister is already there.

Together we hold hands. Looking down we see our bodies.

We are not moving. We are as still as the dead.


attic rain

                      the backyard swing

                                      off kilter



***



The Voyage


We walk in circles, straight lines, diagonals. We walk by coves, mountains, hillsides. We walk in mist, fog, sunlight. We walk alone, in pairs, arms swinging. We walk to post offices, grocery stores, pharmacies. We walk on cobblestones, pavement, pebbles. Wherever we walk, birds are voyaging with us. We open ears, eyes, and heart to tuneful voices. Telling us to keep on keeping on.


crossing to safety

on the high wire

blackbird song



All haibun credit: Crazy Bitches: Selected Haibun 2004-2024 (MacQ, 2025)




******



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. 


********


The Haibun Gallery continues as is.

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


72 Comments


mona bedi
mona bedi
3 days ago

Post #1

12.11.25


Maybe in another life


People once mistook us for twins even though she is four years older than me . Even our children couldn’t tell our voices apart.

Now, as I watch her lying in the hospice bed, she is a shadow of her former self. She holds my hand. Her fingers are ice cold, the grip is weak but her eyes are overflowing with love.


autumn dusk

the shifting temperament

of mountain breeze


Mona Bedi

India


Feedback appreciated:)

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joanna ashwell
joanna ashwell
2 days ago
Replying to

So poignant and heart-breaking Mona.

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mona bedi
mona bedi
3 days ago

Beautiful haibun showcased ! Thanks for a poetic treat Rupa and Neena😊

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Kala Ramesh
Kala Ramesh
4 days ago

https://www.trivenihaikai.in/post/celebration

The haikuKATHA, Issue 49 list is up!

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Kala Ramesh
Kala Ramesh
4 days ago

https://www.trivenihaikai.in/post/celebration


The haikuKATHA, Issue 49 list is up!

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Leena Anandhi
Leena Anandhi
5 days ago

11 Nov 2025

#!


With inputs from Mahua....


Homing


I look at my daughter as she sleeps. She is back home after a strenuous semester. Sleepless nights, daunting deadlines. It is past noon. I am about to wake her up. I change my mind. She smiles in her sleep as I softly close the door behind me. Some things are too sacred to be touched.


migrating flamingos

descend into the waters

resting their feet


10 Nov 25

#1

Homing


I look at my daughter as she sleeps. She is back home after a strenuous semester. Sleepless nights, daunting deadlines. It is past noon. I am about to wake her up. I change my mind. She smiles in her sleep as…


Edited
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joanna ashwell
joanna ashwell
3 days ago
Replying to

The love for your daughter is beautifully expressed in this haibun Leena. A sensitive piece. I like Mohua's suggestion for 'cool' in your closing haiku.

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