Flight of the herons haibun

Suite No. 132 is at the end of the hallway, where nothing but a wide thick transparent glass is between me and the open air. The warmth creeps on my skin and drives away the shiver as I momentarily let the sun bathe me with light.

I notice the amber in the west a second before three knocks on the door. “Please, come in,” a female voice reaches my eardrum from the inside.

She rises from her chair the moment I show my face at the door, and rushes for a formal handshake with me.

outside the window
the flight of white herons

Chanel no. 5

I knew it won’t be a meeting we usually had in old days. “It’s been long, and you know where it goes,” she said emotionlessly. Not commanding, just a bit colder than her please-come-in.

years lost

what’s within the perimeter

of her deeper voice

Just another rain haiku

just another rain
flashing back the old days
where are those wild mushrooms?

hujan seperti biasa
hari-hari lalu melintas balik
ke mana jamur-jamur liar itu?