THE HAIBUN GALLERY: 3rd April 2025. Sandip Chauhan - Guest Editor
- Kala Ramesh
- Apr 3
- 3 min read
Updated: Apr 4
hosts: Shalini Pattabiraman, Vidya Shankar, Firdaus Parvez and Kala Ramesh
mentor: Lorraine Haig
A Thursday Feature
3rd April 2025
IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT BELOW
THE HAIBUN GALLERY APRIL 2025 Sandip Chauhan
Prompt 1
Narrow Road to the Interior - Matsuo Bashō
The MOON AND SUN are eternal travelers. Even the years wander on. A lifetime adrift in a boat, or in old age leading a tired horse into the years, every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home. From the earliest times there have always been some who perished along the road. Still, I have always been drawn by windblown clouds into dreams of a lifetime of wandering. Coming home from a year’s walking tour of the coast last autumn, I swept the cobwebs from my hut on the banks of the Sumida just in time for New Year, but by the time spring mists began to rise from the fields, I longed to cross the Shirakawa Barrier into the Northern Interior. Drawn by the wanderer-spirit Dōsojin, I couldn’t concentrate on things. Mending my cotton pants, sewing a new strap on my bamboo hat, I daydreamed. Rubbing moxa into my legs to strengthen them, I dreamed of a bright moon rising over Matsushima. So I placed my house in another’s hands and moved to my patron Mr. Sampū’s summer house in preparation for my journey. And I left a verse by my door:
even this grass hut
may be transformed
into a doll’s house
Excerpted from Narrow Road to the Interior (Oku no Hosomichi), a travelogue by Matsuo Bashō, translated by Sam Hamill.
Prompt: The Call of the Road
Matsuo Bashō, in Narrow Road to the Interior, speaks of the endless journey—one where home is not a place but a moment between departures. The road calls and the body longs to move, yet every step away is also a step toward something unknown.
Think of journeys you have taken—not just physical ones, but those of the heart and mind. What have you left behind? What did you hope to find? Did the road give you answers, or did it only deepen the questions?
Some journeys are chosen and others are forced upon us. Some are grand, spanning continents; others are small, just a few steps out the door. And yet, in each, there is a moment when you pause—caught between the past and the path ahead.
Write a haibun on the theme of the journey—departure, longing, the pull of the unknown. Here’s a haiku from Bashō himself to inspire you:
even in Kyoto—
hearing the cuckoo’s cry
I long for Kyoto
Now, take your journey and make it poetry. Where does the road take you
********
IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT from Kala: 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: https://forms.gle/xUEiiDR9wd2dgqtR9 only during the submission period.
********
The Haibun Gallery continues as is.
We will be having editors and prompts, and your sharing…
#2 Gembun split itinerary
two clocks ticking
out of sync
on the same wrist Sandip Chauhan, USA feedback welcome
#1
Re-revised (Thank you Joanna and Lorraine)
In Search of an Abode
A cluster of hovels. A stream of inspectors, bearing thick ledgers, descend upon the narrow alleys. Piercing the jostling crowds, they mark homes with thick red crosses.
Barricades are put up and bulldozers arrive.
kittens...
the mother of six resettles
between the books
Mohua Maulik, India
Revised (Thank you Lorraine)
In Search of an Abode
A cluster of hovels. A stream of inspectors, bearing thick ledgers, descend upon the narrow alleys. Piercing the jostling crowds, they mark homes with thick red crosses.
Barricades are put up and bulldozers arrive.
a place to roost
in the concrete jungle
pigeon spikes
Mohua Maulik, India
Call Bell
I received a flyer in my mailbox about a basic practice from the rich yogic tradition that we can easily incorporate into our daily routine. It states that if we consistently practice this method, we can control our blood pressure and enjoy sound sleep among other things.
What?
"If we consistently practice”—isn’t that where all my good intentions come to a grinding halt?
ha! the lingering. . .
fragrance of a champa ...
the uncluttered mind
summer travel
the far end of the road
in a pool of water
Kala Ramesh #1 Feedback welcome. Doubtful about the title.
#1 Salt in the Folds
If I could take something from where I no longer return, it would be the first guava that fell too soon—its skin waiting for time’s gilding touch. I would take the old brass bowl still holding the quiet of her evening prayers. A worn kajal tin would rest against my chest like an amulet. Marigold petals crushed between her palms—pressed into my clothes as if they could hold her aura forever.
I would carry the rustle of leaves beneath my feet, the Gulmohar’s shade murmuring in its sleep. I would bring a tiny clay bird, chipped at its beak, its song long faded but still echoing within me. What I’ve cast aside lingers like…
#2
That one point on the horizon
Going home. There have been so many doorways, so many keys, so many windows with so much light, so many warm embraces, so many you's. Big city bustle and anonymity -- invisible even in pedestrian crossings. Barefoot in mountain streams feeling naked and out of place. The beaches, hiding in the waves, yet when they carry me too far, fearing not knowing the way back. So many destinations always lacking that je-ne-sais-quoi.
last footsteps . . .
a small unmarked grave
is the goal
Alfred Booth
Lyon, France
(feedback welcome)