Showing posts with label cherita. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cherita. Show all posts

Thursday, December 18, 2025

FromOneLine Anthology - Meg / Kobayaashi Studios, 2024-25


another week 

passed after betrayal 

autumn moon

this longing to drift

across the darkest sky


-------


none of them had labels the emergency aid 


-------


three copper pennies

overlapped in the well 

forgotten wishes 


-------


the string snapped

of a refugee child’s guitar 

autumn wind 


-------


there are lights 

on Mars


after whispers 

of our gossip drift

above the dark skies


------- 


The Wind of Change


I’ve forgotten too many things while moving to a new house, a deliberate effort to preserve my emotional bond with my family home. As I pack, I realize I am gathering things that hold a little bit of sentimental value. What I choose to leave behind—old vases, velvet curtains, a wooden trunk, worn kitchen utensils, backyard swings, and walnut furniture. Each of these objects are deeply woven into the fabric of my childhood, holding memories that resurface with a glance or touch. It’s my way of staying connected to my childhood home as I know it’s time to move forward into a modern life that may or may not hold the same sense of belonging. 

 

end of summer—  

husks and dust settle

in the balcony bird feeder 


-----------


Dark Shadows 


It was hard to interpret  

the untold miseries  

etched on the faces  

of those forced to leave  

their homeland, their heritage,

their only place to live freely.  


It was hard to interpret  

the words that pierce hearts,  

the wounds too deep  

to heal without miracles,  

the tears that roll  

down the cheeks  

of the helpless, of the vulnerable,  

those without a voice.  


It was hard to interpret  

the silence of old women  

sitting on the rubble 

of time,  

finding no answers  

for why’s been scapegoated—  

a thousand innocent souls.  


It was hard to interpret  

the prayers locked 

in quivering lips,  

unspoken, ungranted, 

until the very end.  


It was hard to interpret  

the peace after massacre—  

still unfolding the wings  

of another war within.  


-----


home alone 


“I can see everything now, can't I?”. I asked this question to myself before lying on the sofa near the window that opens to the garden. I want to make a constellation before going to sleep but the grayish white clouds made me draw the curtains instead. I scroll through the social media posts and find nothing relevant and interesting. I start staring at the roof where I can see the dappled light of the lamp reflecting the tiny stars. It’s time to connect the dots. I made a small constellation with the stars and named it after my childhood nickname. The nickname that I never heard of for years and that still echoes through my memories. I still am not ready to let go of things that were once a part of my life. 


sleepless night 

the flashes of 

distant lightning 


-------


echoing childhood 


“You make me dream of dragonflies, O little rascal!”  she screams from the hilltop.


He is her childhood friend—the one she always wants to be around. After ten long years, she has returned to her hometown, the place woven with the golden threads of her early memories. City life has drained her: routine, noise, deadlines, loneliness but no real joy. So she comes back, searching for some peace and real happiness. 


She wanders through the old town bazaar, where she would come with her parents and her childhood friends. The local park greets her with rusty swings; their creaking sounds seem to recognize her touch.  


Then she climbs the hillside behind her family’s old haveli—the place where she and Sunny once sat for hours. Their evenings were filled with stargazing, chasing fireflies, listening to crickets, and finding shapes in the full moon.


“It was routine back then,”  she murmurs, taking a deep sigh. 


The tears roll down her cheeks, and she lets them fall, unbothered. She screams into the vast sky, but only her own voice returns, echoing through the valley, sharp and empty.


With a heavy heart, she walks back to the haveli…


back home late

the dry leaves cling 

to her shawl


-----------


deep winter night 


“She took the last piece of cake and went back to her room,” everyone whispered at the party.  


She wants to eat it alone—especially after her recent illness, which has kept her mostly confined to her room. It’s their 50th wedding anniversary, and her husband has thrown a lavish party, eager to present their marriage as perfect to his social circle.


He shares a carefully worded post on social media, tagging her too. The steady ping of notifications irritates her, and she puts her phone on silent.


Taking a small bite of the cake, she mutters.

 

“Why do people pretend their imperfect marriages are perfect, especially on social media?”


She tosses her phone onto the bed and moves to the window—her usual refuge when sadness creeps in. Gently, she touches her faded purple scars on her wrists and thinks about her traumatic past. 


Outside, evening fog is shrouding the street lights. She looks up at the sky where the stars are almost dim—barely holding on their light. 


blurred window—  

 she scribbles her initials   

 without her family name 






My 10 poems (haiku, tanka, freeverse, haibun, and gembun) in the latest FromOneLine anthology, Vol 07. The FromOneLine paperback and hardcover versions are now available to purchase from Amazon!



ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0G5NQLPRZ
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Independently published
Publication date ‏ : ‎ 7 Dec. 2025
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Print length ‏ : ‎ 258 pages
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 979-8277722510
Item weight ‏ : ‎ 399 g
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 14.57 x 2.13 x 22.19 cm

Paperback : https://mybook.to/FOL7
Hardcover : https://mybook.to/FOL7H

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0G5NQLPRZ?tag=uklinktagbk-21&th=1&psc=1&geniuslink=true

https://kobayaashi.wordpress.com/

---------------------

is it a long way
down memory lane
double contrail

----

the calendar was out of days

hospice wall
shadow after shadow
her memory fades

----

shadows
always find a way
in the backyard
childhood memories
on the wall

----

three keys

hung on a hook
of the family house

since last year
when we are forced
to leave our place

----


they arrived

under cover of rain
wind howling
midnight dreams


out of the blue

in each fold 
of the bedsheet
his last call

winter stars

tears fall
without sound
my lingering grief

----

we gathered
at the end of time


without gravity
we still become
the center of universe




Pages 46, 91, 113, 170, 188, 252


Paperback and Hardback versions are now available from Amazon

Paperback : https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0D9RJVGW7

Hardback : https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0D9XJSVPC


The Paperback is available in India from Pothi : https://store.pothi.com/book/meghan-dargue-fromoneline-unseen/


You can also find the book (with relevant links) on the Kobayaashi site : https://kobayaashi.co.uk/fromoneline-the-unseen/


Friday, June 24, 2022

Frameless Sky, 2022


darkening skies
the rolling thunder
of a war drum

forming a delta
blood streams in her eyes


John Hawkhead and Hifsa Ashraf


-----


war debris
a homeless girl gathers
the pieces of her doll

following a paper trail
through the banking system

Hifsa Ashraf and John Hawkhead


-----


farewell

her tiny hand prints
on the train window

a lonely whistle
at the point of no return
crossing the border



Hifsa Ashraf and John Hawkhead



-----




victory march

the glorious history
of graveyards

under the general's statue
a homeless child eats
birdseed


John Hawkhead and Hifsa Ashraf

------------------------------

Lingering Grief

night fog

clouding thoughts
of darkness
white noise

on a loop

vinyl notes
keep me awake
until dawn

mom's lullaby

whispers
in the air
dense smoke


Hifsa Ashraf & Richard Thomas


80% of the proceeds from the DVD n online viewing sale will be donated to Donate to Help Children in Ukraine. Frameless Sky Issue 16 - Dedicated to Ukraine

https://youtu.be/oFG0aN6L3kA

Monday, June 6, 2022

The Cherita, 2022

dusk

my daughter
reminds me
 
to close the window
 
Arvinder Kaur and Hifsa Ashraf


at twilight
 
the parallel rivers
center parting
of her silver hair
 
Arvinder Kaur and Hifsa Ashraf

------

dust tattooed faces


echoes

of hooves

along the cobbles

 

 

Hifsa Ashraf & John Hawkhead 

Gembun Anthology, 04


------


harvest wind 
swaying in the field
mustard blossoms
 
a rain of blood and tears
 
Hifsa Ashraf & John Hawkhead 

windswept rain, Gembun Anthology 4


https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0BR77Q2CP?ie=UTF8&linkCode=xm2&camp=2025&creative=6738&tag=wwwailicouk-21&creativeASIN=B0BR77Q2CP&SubscriptionId=





-------



Eid moon gazing


the solitude
of a day without you
amid festivities


Hifsa Ashraf and Arvinder Kaur


evening, Gembun Anthology 2


https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0B71WQRZ1?ie=UTF8&linkCode=xm2&camp=2025&creative=6738&tag=wwwailicouk-21&creativeASIN=B0B71WQRZ1&SubscriptionId=




-------

muscle memory

his old hands clutch

at what might have been

 

in the cold evening

when he disowns

his own shadow


John Hawkhead and Hifsa Ashraf (Issue 5.9 February 2022)


Sunday, June 5, 2022

The Cherita, 2021

loose knot

a wooden bucket

swaying in the well

 

stilled reflection

our chosen star

becomes a black hole

 

Hifsa Ashraf and John Hawkhead #5:4 September 2021

 

------

 

old oak branches

 

curl around

its shadow

 

the deer’s heart

beating a path

for the bullet


Hifsa Ashraf and John Hawkhead #5:5 October 2021

 

------

  

white noise

the rippling caw

of a mountain crow

 

scents of splintered pine

wash over the high falls

 

snowmelt in her eyes

 

 Hifsa Ashraf and John Hawkhead #5:6 November 2021