hosts: Kala Ramesh & Firdaus Parvez
mentor: Lorraine Haig
A Thursday Feature 7th November
Prakash Thombre Ink sketch
Ink sketch and write-up by Prakash Thombre, Pune.
The Festival of Choices
He stood in the bustling marketplace, quietly lost in thought, hands folded behind his back, holding a simple cloth bag, an old umbrella hanging from his collar. His faded, folded lungi and weary eyes spoke of a life shaped by hard choices. Around him, people bought with ease, seeking festive applause and admiration, piling their carts high without a second thought. But for him, every coin counted, every purchase a choice between the small, unspoken wishes of his family and the reality of his empty pockets. He thought of his wife’s longing for a new saree, and his children’s innocent hopes for sweets or a toy. A pang of guilt mixed with determination filled his heart as he wondered how he could bring them even a small taste of joy this festival season. For him, this wasn’t about appearances or impressing anyone — it was about finding a way, however humble, to honour the love and dreams that kept his family going, no matter how little he had to give.
Challenge:
Enjoy the ink sketch by artist Prakash Thombre and then read what inspired him to draw.
Does this inspire you enough to write a haibun, about the festival days, or about the people you see around you? What could be their dreams, aspirations and hopes?
Give us a haibun, which makes your reader think and go deeper into your words.
Have a whale of a time, while you are at it!
PLEASE NOTE:
1. Only two haibun per poet per prompt.
2. Share your best-polished pieces.
3. Please do not post something in a hurry or something you have just written.
Let it simmer for a while.
4. Post your final edited version on top of your original verse.
5. Don't forget to give feedback on others' poems.
We are delighted to open the comment thread for you to share your unpublished haibun (within 300 words) to be considered for inclusion in haikuKATHA monthly journal.
Important: Since we're swamped with submissions, and our editors are only human, mistakes can happen. Please, please, remember to put your name, followed by your country, below each poem, even after revisions. It helps our editors; they won't have to type it in, saving them from potential typos. Thanks a ton!
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#2
Rosey
I’m entranced when I see her. Envious of those long eyelashes. She is wearing pink roses among her tight curls which sets off her haughty but beautiful face. She has this way of lighting up smiles. People wait, eager for their chance to touch and talk to her.
nursing home
the young alpaca’s
bedside manner
Lorraine Haig, Aust
Feedback welcome
#2
Just another day in paradise
I am walking down the bustling market street when a small hand touches me from behind. I turn to see a barefooted child with dry, matted hair. Her face, her brown-black frock, her arms and legs are all covered with a thick layer of road dust. She is selling dolls—with blonde hair and pink cheeks. The dolls wear long, blue dresses with silver stars that sparkle and their plastic blue eyes blink.
She thrusts one in my direction, and I tell her, politely, ‘Sorry, I have only boys’.
gulmohar flowers
carpet the road…
we drive over
Namratha Varadharajan, India
(Feedback welcome)
Revision - Thank you Shalini, Anju & Namratha!
Papatūānuku
I’m recovering from a flu so I ask my course teacher if I could sit in without participating. She says sure, we’re on Zoom anyway. It’s an evening class; I prop up pillows on the sofa to make myself comfortable as the other participants start showing up, all women.
Today’s topic is, “What can I as guardian of the land do to strengthen soil?”
One by one, the women speak passionately and with compassion. I continue to hear their voices as I enter the realms of sleep. In my drowsy state, they are singing the most heavenly hymn. I feel held and nurtured as I meditate on the many…
#2
Revised (Thank you Anju, Lorraine and Namratha)
Yet Another Rejection
The doorbell rings and my heart sinks as I spy the salesman from Bangladesh. He is bent with the weight of his bag full of saris, fresh off the loom from the rural interiors. I, on the other hand, have finished with my season’s quota of shopping; my bulging cupboards and empty pockets are witness to it.
I demurred and made my excuses. But he brushed them aside. There’s no charge for just seeing, Didi! He smiles. Could I have a glass of water?
Cornered, I let him in. But, I warn him again that I wouldn’t be buying. But he is all smiles, no hurry…
Post #2
11.11.23
Off prompt
Gembun
Revised thanks to Kala:
I can look out of the window for hours
under the peepal
a rickshaw puller
catches up on his sleep
Original:
I can look out of the window for hours
garden Buddha
the friskiness
of swallows
Mona Bedi
India
Feedback appreciated:)