I carry bread for supper
fireflies light my path
The lovable memories of Kasauli still linger in my head. I wish to go back to the hills and sit on a hill top and compose haiku. I want to talk to those lovely birds, people from the hills, shop keepers, army men, hoteliers and whosoever comes my way.
My heart craves to go back to the hills; it craves to hit the road again. This city, its urbaneness is barren for me for it doesn’t quench the thirst of the haikuist in me. I want to travel like Basho, like Issa and compose haiku to my heart’s content.
Haiku is my life, my soul. I am a haiku traveler that is what I am.