The following is an attempt at a “haibun.” I’ve never actually written a haiku, and have no idea if I got the syllables right. I realise this is really cliche sort of attempt at it- I’ll be better next time. Anyway, here:
12th September, 1917
Mama’s crying near the lamp post, the leaves keep falling in the neighbour’s veranda, a lot of them on our heads: we live in the streets. No, my mama’s not sad, my mama’s happy; we got food, money, wealth, that’s what she says. She says “mama’s baby never knows, there’s gold waiting at God’s altar.” She says, “God is the food, money and wealth, baby,” so together we pray.
the sky forgets blue
red rusting leaves whisper
wind howls in delight