Shifting Skies

In this haiku, we capture a fleeting moment of atmospheric transition where impending rain casts a shadow over the landscape. The sun struggles valiantly against dense, encroaching clouds, symbolizing hope amid adversity. Meanwhile, pigeons calmly forage on millets, embodying life's persistent continuity and simple pleasures despite nature's tumult. The poem invites reflection on the interplay of light and darkness, and the resilience inherent in everyday existence. It celebrates nature's ever-changing yet enduring beauty.

Rain round the corner. 

Sun struggles against dense clouds, 

pigeons eat millets.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

The Cuckoo's Prayer

Just as the cuckoo waits patiently for the soothing kiss of rain to bring relief and salvation, so too does my spirit yearn for a divine embrace that offers spiritual solace. In this haiku, nature’s tender moment becomes a metaphor for inner longing—an appeal for renewal, hope, and transcendent comfort. It invites us to reflect on our own search for spiritual relief, finding inspiration in nature’s ephemeral yet profound, truly transformative, embrace.

The pied cuckoo thirsts,

waits for the kiss of raindrops.

And I wait for Thee.

Happy Kiss Day!!!

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Spring and storm

It was a beautiful spring morning. 

Greyish white cotton floating against

greyish blue backdrop.

Clean, fresh, cool breeze.

Birds chirping. 

And amidst this newness, this bloom, 

this freshness, a beautiful early sun 

was peeking through the lush green leaves 

of a garden tree.

And though the scene above was pretty,

the tulips in the lawn had all wilted 

due to excessive rains. 

And this reminded me of our dear Farmers. 

Baisakhi is round the corner. 

Usually at this time of the year,

the fields glisten with golden wheat

ready for harvest. 

But these mistimed rains have spoilt 

their crops. 

I shudder at the thought of their loss. 

So today's tanka is driven by these thoughts. 

 

And it rained all night,
the downpour inopportune.
Red tulips drooping.
Farmers worrying for wheat.
Gold glittering on moist morn.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Monsoon cooking

Familiar fragrances
of the traditional monsoon platter
waft in the air.
The rain washes my grown-up heart,
breathing life
in the pores of my skin and soul.
“Do you know how to cook this?”
I nod in negative.
And there begin my lessons:
A dash of this, a pinch of that.
Some grilling. Some flipping.
Some abracadabra mom special magic.
Recipe, perfect in every way.
As I gorge upon the second helping greedily,
I wonder if I can master it. Ever.
I tell her I’ll need more lessons
but first
I rush out to greet
the fresh bout of rain.

Linking with 100 word challenge : Cook : Thin Spiral Notebook

Touch of rain

Simmering, the touch of rain,
symphonies trail on my skin.
I quiver beneath.

Linking with Haiku Horizons : Rain

Peppered with joy

Peppered with rain-spray
droplets gather in puddles,
joys soak my parched soul.

Linking with Haiku Horizons: Joy

Rains and ponds

Frog croaks, summons rain,
like skin breaks out in goose flesh,
such rippled shivers.

Linking with Haiku Horizons: Frog

Monsoon mayhem

"It will keep drizzling as long as you keep snuggling".
"Let's wreck havoc then!", she said as she cozied against him.
Outside, the drizzle turned to torrents.

U is for ... Umbrella

The whirl drops of rain.
Umbrella becomes our sky.
An illusive feat.

The Tempest

The tepid calmness beneath the somber shroud

Pregnant with a promise of violent storm

The preceding silence is intensely loud

Still and stagnant, like a painting in the dorm

Ships return, seagulls take refuge at the coast

In those darkened hours barely before the storm

And then the gusts taste of thunder, roar and boast

Blizzards twist and twirl the weather-vanes about

Deafening howls resound from pits nethermost

A chaos reigns within, a chaos, without.

Until a sliver of hope is tossed about.

Courtesy: Louise, with The Storyteller's Abode

Linking with Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 

The Tease

A tiny drop, resting for a while, on your bare shoulder
And then travelling down your soft and supple arm
Leaving behind a moist trail
And a growing rivulet of unsaid desires.
Oh! The burning ache of the pleasure
Allowed to that aqueous pearl.
And as if I wasn't ablaze already,
Another bead followed the lead
Melting teasingly over the undraped cutis.
One more and yet another, until they poured torrentially
Enveloping you in their bedewed embrace.
The sun relenting,
Cedeing to the enticing invitation of
The first showers of monsoon.