Tag Archives: haiga


There is something sweet in the longing and uncertainty. When you finally get to the top and you look down, everything that frightened you before suddenly looks nicer somehow. Expectation and sweet stage fright, butterflies in your belly. Now you long for that feeling again – to feel just for a moment, sweet trembling and a fear of the unknown.


I feel like it’s time for some changes and the new beginnings.

If you like what I do, please follow me on my new blog: Downy Dreams



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from the first spark to ash

Linked to Carpe Diem’s Renga Challenge #2 logged tree

Maybe this doesn’t fit the prompt, but this is what I got 🙂


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in the night breeze
open petals 

down the petals 

na noćnom povetarcu
raširene latice

niz latice
kapi kiše


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Posted by on 12/05/2018 in Feel the word, Miss Desire!


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H(aibun) H(aiga) H(aiku)


If he was alive, James Dean and I would celebrate our birthdays on the same date. When I was young, I was really proud of that fact and very often I quoted a famous statement connected to him: “Live fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse.” Of course, I never wanted to die young, but I liked those charisma and the rebellion that shined from him.

How strongly I disagree nowadays! Die young and leave a good looking corpse? Beauty is something that shines from within and that’s the only way for me to measure someone’s charisma. Some people become old in the young age and some are young with the gray hair and wrinkles all over the skin.

At some point of my life, I found myself very old, almost dead. Then I woke up again with the spring sun and no intention to return back into the winter dream.

wooden boat
waiting for a sailor
May after May



“Write a poem about me”, he begged. “Are you my prince?”, I asked. “You’ll never find out if you don’t kiss me”, he replied. At that moment, I noticed a dead dragonfly under the dock.

goodbye frog!
I give up
on haiku

draft message 
waits to be deleted
new moon


almost midnight
sound of brakes
through the window




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The gate closed behind me and once again, an old goalkeeper in a glass hut sinked into a dream in front of his black-and-white monitor.
As I drive back, I breathe deeply, trying to pull into myself even the thinest sun’s ray that runs through the still bare branches.
Then I stop and stand in front of the familiar stone wall. Fingering over the letters, I read once more the well-known rules.
Sometimes it takes so little for happiness – a couple of warm words and a kiss for a good morning.

plum brandy
and a rising sun
balms for a wound

Linked to Carpe Diem’s Crossroads #5 scent of plum blossoms


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20804 (one-bun)

on the other side of a stream a pair of wild rabbits chasing each other, while above them a couple of falcons spread their wings

from flower to flower in a meadow of love – two butterflies

Linked to Carpe Diem #1406 Meadow (one-bun)


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On a dusty window glass – a symbol of eternity drawn by a finger before walkout. Still my thoughts wrap and knit the eights along the frame set long ago. Nothing’s happening. Just sometimes, an unrest or two fly through the small holes of the night and disappear, or become caught and twisted into infinity losing all rights for a breath. How many rains need to fall to wash away the last sigh born on the departure?

small leaf
on a dry branch
hint of happiness

Linked to Carpe Diem #1404 Happiness (short-haibun)


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Midnight rain washes the last traces of Thursday. Bird in a cage spreads its’ wings, drawing attention to itself. I made a screen shot of the moment when my dream turned into reality. 1:11, weird time for a poet’s first appearance on a TV, isn’t it?

sound of wheels
on a wet carriageway
familiar restlessness

Linked to Carpe Diem #1405 New Life (“extreme” haibun)


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Every single time, before I get into the taxi cab, I pay attention on its’ number. I don’t know why, I never memorize them. I have no clue what number I saw today, but when I opened the door and heard that horrible music, I knew it was him! Poor man, he has no idea how famous he is. Maybe not to others, but in my World he surely is since the morning when my Higher Self jumped into his body and asked me about the things I should ask myself. After that drive. I become upset every time when I see his face, but seems like he doesn’t remember me at all. He has never spoken to me again and to be honest, I hope he never will. What happened that day? I really don’t know, but I know that today I’m standing face to face with all my dreams buried long time ago.

oh, this breeze
familiar melody 
as a lullaby

Linked to Carpe Diem #1395 The Dream


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You are getting old, aren’t you? Me, too, faster and faster. Somehow, this spring rain decided to water me, like a seed placed into the ground. I don’t rejoice too much, I have to say. I hope that I don’t sound too gloomy while I grumble looking for the colors in these March days.

We are what we see in others, I know. That’s why I wonder how may different worlds settled down inside of me. Is my heart so huge?

I try to figure out where the dreams go when the raindrops disperse them from the pillows. Maybe they just hide somewhere under the beds and wait for some other magical morning while we seek for them under the other’s coats. I dunno.

empty bowl
in a beggar’s hand
sky fills with tears

Linked to Carpe Diem #1389 Begging Bowl


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