onebreathpoetry

Tag: #tankaprose

  • Drifting Sands Haibun

    Honored to be in the beautiful Drifting Sands Haibun – a Journal of haibun and tanka prose, Issue 34, December 2025, with my experiential #tankaprose, “Lanterns of the Heart” among the gallery of poems by talented poets.

    Lanterns of the Heart.
    Neena Singh
    Chandigarh, India

    At the Institute for Rehabilitation of the Mentally Challenged, time feels slower, almost suspended. The children come forward shyly, then with recognition, a flood of smiles and hugs. Their eyes hold a warm welcome. The Director tells them, “no hugs, just Namaste”, I restrain her and reciprocate their hugs warmly.
    The children laugh at little things—a spectacled boy is drawing a huge snail, another is coloring an orange, a girl’s smile lights up her entire face, her silent language older than words.

    innocent faces
    their silence ripples
    as circles in water—
    how small my cares seem
    in the now of their world

    In the craft room, youngsters showcase their creations—paper and cloth bags, jute place mats, mirrors circled with braided flax, chocolates wrapped in gold and silver foil, scented candles with pressed flowers. The Director offers me a chocolate, tasting it, the sweetness melts in my mouth.

    in their eyes
    no shadow of tomorrow—
    only stars
    lighting the present
    brighter than the sun

    Grateful to dear Keith Evetts, Guest Editor for the acceptance, I loved his prompt. Kudos to Sangita Kalarickal, Chief Editor, Reid Hepworth, Associate Editor, & team on the stellar publication. I am deeply humbled to have this tanka prose nominated for the Touchstone Award and the Contemporary Haibun Anthology by the Editors. 🙏💐

    Congratulations to all featured #poets.

  • Ribbons Tanka Journal

    Delighted that #Ribbons Fall/Winter 2025: Volume 21 Number 2 issue features my #tanka & #tankaprose. Ribbons is the prestigious tanka journal of the #TankaSociety of America.

    Grateful to Susan Weaver, Editor & Liz Lanigan, Tanka Prose Editor for the acceptance & publication.

    Presence
    Neena Singh, Chandigarh, India

    autumn of life—
    the clock’s slow pendulum
    marks time
    not in minutes or hours
    but in moments shared

    On our forty-third anniversary this year, a long-time friend gifted us this wooden antique clock, knowing, perhaps, that at this age, what we cherish most is neither speed, nor ambition but time together.

    The brass pendulum swings gently, measuring this new rhythm of our lives. On quiet afternoons, I listen to its calm ticking—unhurried, unlike the years behind us—the busyness of shared years: raising our son, moving cities, building careers, building our home. Yet now, the silences between the ticks seem just as full.

    the clock strikes five
    you awaken my dream
    with masala chai…
    these moments I gather
    like shells on the beach

  • Drifting sands journal

    Honored to be in the beautiful Drifting Sands Haibun – a Journal of haibun and tanka prose, Issue 32, June 2025, with my #TankaProse, “earworm” among the gallery of poems by talented poets.

    Grateful to dear Sangita Kalarickal Krivošíková, Chief Editor and Anju Kishore, Editor for the guidance, acceptance & publication. 🙏💐

    Congratulation to all featured #poets.
    https://drifting-sands-haibun.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/Issue-32.pdf

  • Ribbons

    Delighted that #Ribbons Spring/Summer 2024: Volume 20 Number 1 issue features my #tankaprose. Ribbons is the prestigious tanka journal of the #TankaSociety of America.

    Grateful to Susan Weaver, Editor & Liz Lanigan, Tanka Prose Editor for the acceptance & publication.

  • Contemporary Haibun Online

    Contemporary Haibun Online 19.3 #cho is online and I am delighted to have a #tankaprose featured- The Miracle of Flight”. Two #Haiga in collaboration with dear Billie Dee are also included in the Haiga Gallery. The photos clicked by me are of Sukhna Lake, Chandigarh and enhancing them are the haiku are penned by Billie.

    Grateful to Tish Davis, Editor, Tanka Prose for the acceptance and guidance.
    Thanks to Ron Moss for the acceptance of our Haiga.

    Congratulations to all featured poets.

    https ://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/cho19-3-table-of-contents/neena-singh-the-miracle-of-flight/

    The Miracle of Flight

    It’s a hot summer morning and as I water the plants in the garden I see some movement behind a flowerpot. I move closer, two sharp eyes and a curved beak peer—a baby hawk! The bird appears injured as one wing is stretched out. The closer I move, the more it tries to hop behind the row of pots.

    I call my birding friends for advice and follow their instructions:
    “Just let it be…it will fly away”;
    “keep a piece of raw meat and some water near it,“
    “keep a boiled egg near it”.

    Bending low, I whisper—“fly baby, you are meant to soar in the sky”. It looks at me with its piercing eyes and flaps its wing, as if it understands.

    surprise guest
    behind a flowerpot . . .
    the grace and wisdom
    in its bright eyes
    hold me captive

  • Ribbons

    Delighted that Ribbons Fall 2023: Volume 19, Number 3 issue features my tanka prose and tanka sequence. Ribbons is the prestigious tanka journal of the Tanka Society of America.

    Grateful to Susan Weaver, Editor & Liz Lanigan, Tanka Prose Editor for the acceptance & publication.
    Here is the tanka prose:

    Light of Hope
    Neena Singh, Chandigarh, India

    “Hope” is the thing with feathers –
    That perches in the soul –
    And sings the tune without the words –
    And never stops – at all
    ~ Emily Dickinson

    The white-bearded, turbaned Sardarji sits outside the public garden with multi-colored lamps stacked around him. I stop to greet him with folded hands, and he beams a broad smile. I enquire whether these lamps are homemade, and he responds in the affirmative.

    “My family had suffered in Delhi during the anti-Sikh riots of 1984. I lost everything I owned, so, with the family, I fled to Dehradun to build a new life. After trying many odd jobs, I began making lanterns and selling them door-to-door. Now I am getting old, and people don’t buy my lamps as much as they used to,” he says with a sigh.

    last night
    heavy rain pelted
    the old pine
    yet it stands tall
    strong-willed like you

    Seeing my interest, he warms up and confides that he is saving money for his daughter’s marriage, after which he will return home and stop this arduous labor which has engaged him for the last twenty years. The old man’s words ring close to my heart, as I walk home, clutching a red lamp, wondering if it will light up my life.

    August wind
    ripples the evergreen
    feathery fronds fall…
    what burdens we carry
    of the stories we hear

    Photo edited at his request to respect anonymity.

  • Drifting Sands Haibun Journal

    DriftingSands #Haibun Journal, issue 21, May 2023 is out.

    Grateful to Diana Webb, Editor & Richard Grahn, Founding Editor & Artist for the guidance and publication of my #Tankaprose—Circle of Life.

    The issue also has a link to my Ripples in the Sand #podcast with Sangita Kalarickal Krivošíková, where I read some of my published #haibun.

    Congratulations to all featured poets. So much to read and relish! 🙏💐

    Read the issue here:

    https://drifting-sands-haibun.org/

  • Ribbons

    Neena Singh, Chandigarh, India

    The official journal of the Tanka Society of America—Ribbons, Winter 2023, issue 92 is out and I am grateful to have a tanka prose featured.

    Grateful to Liz Lanigan, Tanka Editor for the acceptance and publication.

    Of Human Bondage
    Neena Singh, Chandigarh, India

    This is a story of two dogs; the first, a stray black mongrel, who lives in our neighborhood and behaves like a monkey. He leaps our gate and perches on our car. He has made the neighbor’s house his own abode, as the owner of the house is away. Every night and early morning he is seen, perched precariously on their parapet, bold and fearless. I’ve christened him Perch!

    The other is our pet Rumi—a 13-year-old yellow lab, more human than dog: trapped by our love, neither free nor fearless. She shows no interest in other dogs but adores babies and youngsters. The only people she barks at are mendicants*, beggars and the garbage collector. Content to be with us, she loves to play catch-ball for treats, avidly listens to music, and greatly enjoys rides in the car.

    I often wonder, “Who is happier—Perch or Rumi?”

    perched on the wall
    a parrot pecks
    birdseed
    breakfast in the garden
    we drink winter sunshine

    Well, this tale has a twist.

    On return from offshore travels, our neighbor adopted Perch. He no longer jumps walls; has a new name, a red collar, and a leash around his neck. I see him being taken for walks, trotting meekly alongside his master. The look he gives me is one of recognition. A small wag of the tail tells me that he remembers the milk and bread we fed him outside our gate.

    this desire
    to be a blade of grass
    dancing in the rain
    yet I stand tall and grim
    dripping like the evergreen

    • Members of a religious order who forsake worldly possessions and rely on alms to survive.

  • Ribbons journal

    My tanka prose in Ribbons, Winter 2023, Issue 19, Vol 1, grateful to Liz Lanigan, Tanka Prose Editor.

    Of Human Bondage

    This is a story of two dogs; the first, a stray black mongrel, who lives in our neighborhood and behaves like a monkey. He leaps our gate and perches on our car. He has made the neighbor’s house his own abode, as the owner of the house is away. Every night and early morning he is seen, perched precariously on their parapet, bold and fearless. I’ve christened him Perch!

    The other is our pet Rumi—a 13-year-old yellow lab, more human than dog: trapped by our love, neither free nor fearless. She shows no interest in other dogs but adores babies and youngsters. The only people she barks at are mendicants, beggars, and the garbage collector. Content to be with us, she loves to play catch-ball for treats, avidly listens to music, and greatly enjoys rides in the car.

    I often wonder, “Who is happier—Perch or Rumi?”

    perched on the wall
    a parrot pecks
    birdseed
    breakfast in the garden
    we drink winter sunshine

    Well, this tale has a twist. On return from offshore travels, our neighbor adopted Perch. He no longer jumps walls; has a new name, a red collar, and a leash around his neck. I see him being taken for walks, trotting meekly alongside his master. The look he gives me is one of recognition. A small wag of the tail tells me that he remembers the milk and bread we fed him outside our gate.

    this desire
    to be a blade of grass
    dancing in the rain
    yet I stand tall and grim
    dripping like the evergreen

    (Title thanks to Somerset Maugham)