A Darkness No Star Can Melt Births a New Dawn

Like that day, the storm was on. The only difference was that the storm was happening only outside. Sweeping in a demonic wave, it erased the memories’ vestige of calm, with a shadowy flounce over the dark jade deep. Gusty winds stirred up caravans of dust, cloaking all in a haze. Moats of dirt gathered around every object—both living and nonliving. Akin to a super fast train arrowing through, the heavy axe of the blast hewed tree branches and leaves fell, too.

A clamorous wind blew in, while silver lances tossed in the sky, and almost uprooted the black plum tree before our eyes. It leaned forward, lowering its towering height; stretching out its hands east and west, whining in vain for a peaceful rest; continued to bend its neck; and drooping its branches, almost pressed against the ground. We were like turtles upturned, their world upside down, unable to right themselves, or flip back onto their feet. There appeared an ecstatic crowd of humans, their voices in clanging flight. Their arms winged with victory over the salubrious tree that was delimbed, its only fault being encroachment on territories the humans called their own.

Similar to a struck frog, we convulsed but never cried in pain. Our faces grave white, our attire like white flower wreaths, feeling the teeth of soreness scraping our peace within, while we awaited an awakening the souls did retreat.

We don’t know when the storm inside perished, leaving us vacuous and impassive. A solemn slumber captivated us that forgot to vex, to burn in distress. Invisible manacles clanked on our immobile hands.

For long, the tree remained in a benumbed state—no chirping of birds, no visitation of bees, no hugging of squirrels could release the unease, loosen the tensed wire that remained suspended within.

The gale had let wild man-of-war birds and falcons free—flapping wide wings and gnawing on the unrelenting pain. Down in the treacherous abyss of our minds, death held its flag alive. A strong blow to our health, a threat to our continuance, was on. In our desolate houses were heard the enduring, pensive children’s tireless pleas to climb onto life’s lap, leaving unvoiced sobbing surfs of threnody.

The supersonic blow tried its utmost to deracinate the tree. It survived the wallop, twisting and curving in positions never seen, unfamiliar to believe. Perhaps the rule of life is to go on, irrespective of the frozen memories—which remain like a bone stuck in the esophagus, refusing to let go—that resolve never to thaw again.

On the following day, the tree seemed lighter than usual—displaced by the squall, slanted at about 60 degrees to the vertical. Its tensed branches were at ease, stirring gently in the summer zephyr. A few days later, the hardened discomfort lessened. From the limbless, white-embattled branches once bitten by foes, gorgeous, fiery new leaves sprouted from within to exhibit pageantry that fit the common, dreadless days ahead.

The Paintku Project

H aikuists have long been inspired by paintings, yet there is no formal framework for approaching this practice without confusing it with related poetic forms such as haiga or photo-haiku. To address this gap, the author started The Paintku Project on her Bluesky account, from which some of the Paintku serve as examples supporting newly established guidelines for this emerging genre.

As the name suggests, a Paintku is a noun combining painting with the suffix -ku, signaling the fusion of this visual art and haiku. However, defining it simply as “a haiku inspired by a painting” is too vague. A Paintku should be understood as a haiku inspired by a painting in its entirety, or by one or more of its motifs, compositional elements, or other constituent features. Through engagement with these elements, a Paintku seeks to capture the essence of the painting’s primary theme, one or more subthemes, a prevailing emotional atmosphere, or another distinct and meaningful aspect of the artwork.

For example, the first painting addressed in the project was Norman Rockwell’s Freedom of Speech (1943), which inspired the Paintku:

The fundamental rule for writing a successful Paintku is that it must not merely describe the painting. Instead, it should contribute new insight through careful engagement with the work. This insight may illuminate an emotional absence:

(A Paintku about Pablo Picasso’s Guernica, 1937.)

A Paintku must function as a standalone poem, distinct from the painting itself and clearly separable from haibun, photo-haiku, or ekphrastic description.

A second guiding principle is stylistic correspondence: the language and approach of a Paintku should, when possible, resonate with the aesthetic qualities of the painting. Minimalist works may invite spare, restrained language, while a Cubist painting may justify fragmentation or syntactic tension. For instance, Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette (1876), with its fleeting, light-filled Impressionist style, inspired the Paintku:

Here, the soft sounds and rhythm of the haiku echo the painting’s lively, ephemeral atmosphere.

Ultimately, The Paintku Project seeks to establish basic guidelines for this new poetic form, foster a community of poets interested in combining visual art with haiku, and create a unique dialogue around paintings. By engaging deeply with artworks in poetic form, participants can notice subtleties, themes, and emotional nuances that might otherwise be overlooked, enriching both their understanding of art and their own poetic practice.

Nalini

a lone flower
stands tall
much like my mother

all through her life
a determined bloom !

awake alone to the year’s first morning sun.

in the mirror
this familiar stranger …
a burst of birdsong

THE DIGITAL AGE

No one makes
time to stare

at nothing
these days

we don’t make nothing.
Nothing does.

It is the time
that un-makes us all

bruise-toned night
things she remembers
things she doesn’t

dried river
the bed full of pebbles
marks a lifetime