Rhyme ‘n’ reason
A haiku is a specific type of Japanese poem which has 17 syllables divided into three lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables. Haikus or haiku are typically written on the subject of nature. The word haiku (pronounced hahy-koo) is derived from the Japanese word hokku meaning “starting verse.” Here are two haiku poems we are sure you would enjoy:
A poppy blooms by Katsushika Hokusai
I write, erase, rewrite
Erase again, and then
A poppy blooms.
In the moonlight by Yosa Buson
In pale moonlight
the wisteria’s scent
comes from far away.
By Mashaal Farid
Haven’t we come such a long way, dear
It’s time, I think, not to shed a tear
Slavery is imprisoned in the abyss of darkness
Enough now we have had of its tartness
Gone are the days of tears and sorrow
Hope will be cultivated now for tomorrow
The old will dance and the young will smile
Dreams will be free and fears hostile
The moon, to the rise of sun, will sing
The days will end in no painful sting
We shall believe, we’re out of the palace of flea
And now we’re free, we’re free!
Free from the torments of dictators
Free from the tricks of traitors
Free from horror, free from fright
Out of dungeons, into light
To prosper in unison, we all shall agree
Cause now we’re free, we’re free!
By Abid Agha
In the daily rhythm of office halls,
She’d pass by for coffee calls.
I brewed the coffee, her favorite delight,
Offering cookies, a shared respite.
Back to her seat, the routine complete,
Moments savored, a connection sweet.
Then, a sudden silence, days passed by,
Her absence noticed, a wondering sigh.
In the daily work of office lore,
A connection missed, now felt even more.
In a day of rain since the morning light,
Engaged at my desk, lost in the fight.
Abruptly, a door swung wide with grace,
She entered, took a seat, an unexpected embrace.
Raindrops, like pearls, rolled down her hair,
A watery flow, a scene so rare.
Tight-lipped, she sat, a mystery’s stare,
Eyes meeting mine, a silent affair.
I asked, “What’s the matter?” with care,
She, speechless, kept staring at her henna-rich hands.
I reached her reason for silence.
Rising from my chair, a silent decree,
Two cups of coffee, an offering for we.
In her hands, the coffee cup held firm, you see.
Suddenly, she stood, a swift ballet,
Coffee cup on the table, emotions in disarray.
Wet eyes met mine in a fleeting gaze,
Then she left, leaving echoes of her maze.
Steam rising from the cup, a silent appeal,
Her steps a fading symphony silently, slowly.
In the quiet aftermath, the lingering air,
Tales untold, dissolving like mist, a rare affair.
Compiled by SK