Dear Readers,
It’s not always that a poem sits at the tip of your tongue. A poem, more often than not, takes its sweet time to come to you. Even when it forms like perfection in your mind, it turns into jelly when you want to want to put the words down. This is what happened with the current prompt that was shared on Poetic Adventures. It said,
Write a poem about your local area or your city. Let your language, tone and pace of the poem reflect the place you are writing about. Talk about what makes it your home or talk about an experience unique to your locality. “Every place has its aura. A pace. A distinct smell. A tree which signals you are home.” Reflect that in your words.
I had so many things on my mind- all nice ones, but when I sat down to write I couldn’t turn away from reality, considering the large scale damage my hill state has suffered at the hands of nature or, shall I say, in the name of progress. Of course, I turned it into a haibun (so obsessed with the form right now). I hope it speaks to you.
HOME
Under a cover of needle-leaved pines hanging upon sharp bends, a lone Premier Padmini zigzags on the narrow forest lane, stopping just short of the Mall Road—a colonial exclusive, when a long hooter announces the end of day. Office crowds meet women on walk, children rushing from school, everyone cascading into everyone. Between food scents—spoonie, siddu, coffee, kukrej —and cigarette puffs sizzle politics and music, to die just after sundown; burning hearths in matchbox houses tiptoeing on hill tops, ready to welcome day wanderers.
summer’s cold draft—
tucked in blankets
all year round
Opposite one tree, between the smell of concrete, a twisting trail zigzags on six lanes, special pass to get them past the Mall Road—brimming with beings descending from plains, everyone crashing into everyone. Siddus fizzle between fireworks of fast franchise factions, musics entombed beneath honking cars, blaring way past sundown; burning hearths doused by rains, the matchbox houses swept away, day wanderers dwindle into refugees.
altering earth
winter snow
lost in transit
**************************************
If you are someone who enjoys poetry reading, I have a channel for children called Poetry Palooza, and my recent reading/enactment is what I call ‘eviliciously funny’! Reading ‘The Spider and The Fly’ by Mary Howitt here.
I also have some happy news. Three of my poems written during Poetic Adventures 1.0 have found a home in Muse India and will be published in their March 2026 edition. I also have an acceptance (a miniature poem) for The Hooghly Review Special Poetry Edition to be released in October 2025.
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A Hundred Quills 
This is amazing. I love the way you have brought together prose and poetry and managed to capture various aspects of your hometown. Congratulations on your acceptances Sonia.
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Thank you, Tulika🌸🌸
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Try responding to the wordpress prompt on your style. It will keep you engaged with more new users. 😀 Give a try once.
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“Siddus fizzle between fireworks of fast franchise factions, musics entombed beneath honking cars, blaring way past sundown; burning hearths doused by rains, the matchbox houses swept away, day wanderers dwindle into refugees.”
This is the ground reality of our mountains right now. loved it Sonia
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What a vivid way to capture the spirit of your hometown! I love how your haibun blends everyday life with the changing seasons—it really makes me feel like I’m there.
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I particularly like the haiku portions of you haibun. Congratulations on your acceptances!!
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Love the contrast you’ve brought out in how home used to be and how it has grown to be. The haikus especially are so beautiful, I can’t pick a favourite!!
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How interesting. What a vivid portrait you’ve spun with your words. I had to look up siddu tp find out what it was. Will have to come tl Simla to have it I suppose
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