Issue 3 - December 2025 - Tanka prose 3
Reverie
On a pilgrimage with my parents to a remote village in Maharashtra, India, I remember a late October evening, forty years ago . . .
golden hour -
in the village dust
the air brimming
with peals of laughter
and fresh sugarcane
Dozens of bullock carts strut ahead of us. Behind us, a dozen more. An awe-inspiring steady jingle of cowbells with the rhythmic rattle of the cart wheels. From our bus window, my father's friend pulls out two sugarcanes from a cart. The men whistle and the women giggle, as the bus slowly ambles its way through the animal traffic. A co-passenger passes around a box of milk sweets for everyone. Ensconced in my mother's arms, and thrilled by my father's joyfully pointing out to me the bells on the bullock horns, I sink into the cosiness of a growing evening . . .
autumn haze . . .
a lone cow grazing
near the horizon
the wind howls
hollow and cold
Vaishnavi Ramaswamy, India
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