Autumn on the streetwarm cup cradled in both handsleaves race past my boots
365 Days of Haiku
Haikus
Seventeen syllables a day. A year-long journal of small moments, spinning fans, waiting trains, grandma’s kitchen, storms we inherit, the words first, each with the artwork it was posted alongside. Days 1–51, and counting.
follow along on Instagram, @vibeinkstincts_
Little thirsty crocheavy rains for several daysand the flooded shore
Met two of the beesone of them was humming beeother buzzing bee
Looking up the roofI can not tell what's spinningthe fan or my head
Curtailed characterswho is who and what is whatdifficult to judge
Cows drink the waterturn it into creamy milksnakes to the poison
Morning birdsong fadesmuted as sun goes highercity's steady roar
Curled photo cornersthe moments turn sepianames fade into sky
Shoulders carrying dreamsSitting library's last rowHeart inked in deep thoughts
Waiting for the trainOne, two, three, four, five, six hoursstill no train in sight
Bare branches whisperNo need to show off their strengthWinter holds their truth
Little baby meWears baba's spectacles toSee world as he does
Grandma with no teethMunching on grated applesWatching master chef
Nicely stacked up booksSide table of my fatherMy first library
Frosty JanuaryI sink into cozy quiltdreams whisper goodnight
When I was a childMama's gentle lullabyNow only her snores
We are born with mapsHidden routes beneath the skinRoads we cannot leave
Washing up my faceOver and over againTo wipe the word 'cursed'
Built like fragile jarsStacked on shelves of expectationWaiting for the fall
Small birds on the wirePracticing their only songFor the ears of air
Small hand in my handWorld's too big, but not for usWalking side by side
Winter at the doorAll siblings around one bowlSoup and louder jokes
Some wounds do not healThey sit quietly in our bonesWaiting to be named
Childhood in one boxLetters, toys, a broken watchTime we never had
Voices in the darkFractured thoughts, a splintered mindLost in endless loops
Winds whisper secretsLeaves dance, trees lean in to hearNature's hidden song
Midnight bike rideCold hands, warm brotherly loveFreedom's gentle grasp
Some nights I feel oldHolding my younger self homeThrough the same dark
I outgrown my skindreams press hard from the insideSeams begin to ache
We inherit stormsThunders sleeping in our ribsRains shadow our hearts
Silence has a weightPressing on these fragile wallsPaint begins to crack
Raised beside a fireTold the smoke belongs to usCoughing in the dark
Hypocrisy breedsMasks of kinship, hearts of stonesBloodlines full of lies
Who we really areRoles we wear, identities shiftSearch for self persists
Shoes piled by the doorLike shells left by friendly wavesWhole family gathered
Photo albums outWe point, laugh at younger selvesTime lounges on the couch
Lights off, Netflix onAdulting mode's on a pauseJoy of missing out
Today's to-do-list:Breathe in, Breathe out, Take a nap;Nailed it. Go to bed.
Budget said “behave”Online cart said “treat yourself”Guess who won? Not me
'One more chapter,' I say.My eyelids refuse the dealthe book slaps my face
Sunset did its thingI took forty-seven picsNone looked like the sky
I tried to write about the rainBut the sky keep rememberingAbout the smoke
Polluted airPolluted hands and heartsNature's dying breath
Polished, gleaming skinMirror hides the gnawed, dark coreRot whispers behind
My to-do list sitsstaring. I stare back. We bothpretend not to see.
I left for silenceto find the voice beneath the noiseI never really left.
Sleepy nights feel likeSleepless nights turned inwardRestless by new name
Fan spins slow aboveTextbooks stick to sweaty armsClasses in 45°
Inboxes emptyFor a 'maybe' coming lateWaiting keeps no time
Masks that we all wearForced smiles over weary heartsEyes stay vacant too
Heavy stone, soft wingsI was never meant to sinkUp I go, I go
❀
Excerpts
Quotes, small lines to carry with you
Quotations gathered from the writings of Dua Fatima.
“Some words are meant to be whispered. Others, to be kept, like snow, in the palm of a hand.”
Dua Fatima, Penguin Writes
“The kindest sentences are the ones that walk quietly.”
Dua Fatima, Penguin Writes
“Memory is a small, careful bird. Feed it slowly.”
Dua Fatima, Penguin Writes
“I keep my hours the way a librarian keeps her lamps, one at a time.”
Dua Fatima, Penguin Writes
“There is a difference between silence and stillness. I am learning to love the second.”
Dua Fatima, Penguin Writes
“Winter does not ask you to be brave. Only warm.”
Dua Fatima, Penguin Writes