drifting-sands-haibun, 2026

All that Remains 

We sit beneath the old beri tree, a relief from the summer heat. Its leaves rustle gently, stirring memories of our childhood. The half-ripened ber are still waiting, for a deep shade of red. Some have already fallen to the ground, perhaps shaken loose by stones, pecked by birds, or simply blown away by the wind. A few lie scattered, trodden by passersby. The fruit tastes just as it always has—every sweet-and-sour bite bringing back carefree summers. We search for our names carved into this beri trunk, faded yet there . . . we linger, looking for the parts of ourselves we left behind. 

dappled sunlight 

on the dusty trail 

unspoken words 

https://drifting-sands-haibun.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/09/DSH-Issue-37-Sept-2026.pdf

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A humid day

She is sitting alone on a clay mound. We exchange smiles when I come near, a deep silence follows. She wants me to tell her about her mother who has been missing since the monsoon flood. She has a lingering hope in her big black eyes. I have nothing to share with her as we still don’t know much about the missing persons. I come to this relief camp daily to console her and many others. Every time she gets no news on her mother—the only person left in her life, she looks down in despair, and returns to her tent—a temporary shelter that keeps her safe for the time being. 

muddy trail 

with many footprints . . . 

mid-summer migration

Drifting Sands Haibun, Issue 36, June 2026.

https://drifting-sands-haibun.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/06/DSH-Issue-36-June-2026.pdf

drifting-sands-haibun, 2025

 Long Weekend 

I wake up to the first winter rain in the morning, cold and surreal. I open the bedroom window and breathe in and out deeply. The smell of rain is mixed up with both petrichor and half-buried leaves, not a pleasant one. It makes me reminisce about past times; I sit back and think of the time when I was a child. I used to play with other kids in the rain, stamping on fallen leaves, and jumping over the puddles, screaming at the mud splashes on our tidy clothes until mom caught us and took us back to the cozy living room near the fireplace. A gust of cold air bangs the window twice, a flash of lightning in my eyes, making me blind and still for a moment. I take a deep sigh and close the window, letting the tiny droplets settle on its glass. After a short while, the droplets start connecting with each other before sliding down leaving me behind to oscillate between present and past. 

family house visit switching to the off-guard mode

https://drifting-sands-haibun.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/Issue-31.pdf

drifting-sands-haibun, 2024

Going With the Flow 

The river wind slows me down halfway through. I am trying not to resist whatever comes to my head; random thoughts, vivid memories, humming sounds, and musty smells. I want to clear my mind before I get back home, no matter how long it takes. I let my brown hair sway in the air and even stroke my face with its split ends. I am aware of my surroundings and myself as well. It’s a bit hard but relaxing to go beyond my comfort zone. But, it’s worth it to experience the “here and now,” grasp the moments that are unique and unusual in many ways. 

selflessness
in the blue sky
a drifting cloud

drifting-sands-haibun, Issue 28, July 2024 

https://drifting-sands-haibun.org/

drifting-sands-haibun, 2022

 Transformed 

I am walking through a park carpeted in fallen leaves. Each leaf has its own unique colors, colors that are more meaningful since my first chemo.

I witness the way they accept annihilation, so gracefully, so compassionately. I see how the cold wind detaches them, how they fall in a rhythmic, almost meditative way. And finally, I witness their burial, how they feed the tree they once were part of.

sunlit mist
the lingering song
of a robin

My breath masks my face as, for a moment, I stop to feel the pulse of these roots and branches: the pulse of this forest. Among the trees, each string of thoughts unravels thoughts that make me vulnerable and fragile. A warm tear runs down my cold face and I move on.

way back home
I carry no more
shadows

drifting-sands-haibun, January issue 13