The Persistence of Memory
It lies here, neglected and lost, a white empty polythene bag, an aberration amongst the colourful footfalls. Separated from whatever was inside it, it has ceased to exist. Lying here, waiting for the morning cleaners with their brooms of long wooden handles and brittle bristles of sorghum. But there’s a breeze - gentle at first, building up its breath, puffing out its chest… and in that gust, the poly-bag soars.
Touching the red Converse of a sixteen-year-old, hooked to his iPod, brushing by the blue sari of the woman bent over fresh farm produce, catching the grey boulder chiseled into the likeness of Buddha, sweeping past the brick wall, crossing the street in a single bound, almost caressing the yellow car on its way before stopping at her feet.
mackerel sky -
an unfinished poem
by the felled tree
I have known her for over a decade. Our families spent idle afternoons over low stakes bridge and loud spicy lunches. And then one day, they stopped coming to the club.
Their son, failing the medical entrance exam for the fifth time, overdosed on sleeping pills.
summer heat –
the mongrel laps up
Published – World Haiku Review, Aug 2014
Paresh Tiwari is an often-published poet, writer and illustrator currently residing in Mumbai, India. He took to haiku and its associated forms in 2012 and is currently dabbling with longer forms of writing. His haiku, haibun, tanka, haiga and other poems appear frequently in noteworthy journals and anthologies across the world. An Inch of Sky, Paresh Tiwari’s collected haiku and haibun, has been published by 20 Notebooks Press. The book is now available online at http://goo.gl/MsSCaK