The sojourner’s haibun – Nitin Lalit Murali


I’m trapped in my old sedan like the Sicilian Bull, the fires of trauma roasting me, and in agony I pound the steering wheel and incessantly press the horn, though the hairpin bends as sharp as glinting scythes stay deserted, except for the hard rain, the water like blood sluicing, the wipers like metal claws scraping the glass in desperation. On either side tea plantations like incisions on a masochist’s wrist haunt. The mist envelopes like white pus, and I can’t see the dying light circumscribed by the mutinous night with her soldiers with onyx spears and her crescent moon—her war horn with pitted symbols of anarchy. A solitary hooded man passes like the reaper in flesh. My shrieks echo, and the car burns the wet asphalt leaving tire marks like another layer of infection on a gangrenous wound. The rage from my headlights clamp the air like crocodile shears…

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  1. This is freaking fabulous! If I was one to type wild expletives I would expunge them, right here.
    ‘as sharp as glinting scythes” and other phrases…. brilliant. There is desperation and breathlessness throughout. Unsettling, like the slightly angled horizon.
    Like this a lot Nitin.

    1. Thank you so much Diana! Yeah I thought I’d portray a breathless lust for life in a visceral manner using brutal imagery. I’m so glad you liked it. That means a lot to me!

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