Category Archives: JusJoJan

2 (Haiku): Gift & Color

Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Hair


Jim was looking Della;

as the Comb felt unlucky

                                             for the hair, Jim adore…

[Based on O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi]



He was confused on

the color to dye his white hair.

He is twenty only.



Triplet of Haiku #3: Murder, Love & Captive

JusJoJan Daily Prompt: History


As I move high, be-

fore going away, I learn histo

ry of my murder…


Jot down history

Of my incomplete love…

My Dear Kolkata


Few hours went, and,

History capture anoth-

er city, the, Pompeii…

Out of The Blue: An Incomplete Portrait

JusJoJan Daily Prompt: Elusive


A shroud of elusive thoughts started shrouding me that morning, out of the blue.

I, at first, didn’t pay attention to it ’cause I was basking in the young morning light–

Reading Unaccustomed Earth, sitting at my favorite cozy space on my sofa.

Patterns of the floral window frame was casting an elusive, imaginary kind of collage–

On my shoulder and the space around me, (and) also was over-spreading–

Over my shoulder, a little on the page I was reading.

I looked up, thinking s’thing that I can’t recollect now at the moment–

It’s one of those imprecise thoughts I have daily–then and now–

And forgetting at the very next moment or few times later–

Before the turn of an hour mostly.

A yellowish worn out memory amalgamating with the sun-shaded floral print–

Visioned me of a man; he seems to be me in my older age–

Not much, ten years more from now.

He’s sitting beside me with the newspaper on his face–

And cigarette tucked between his fingers…

I had had this kind of vision before, many time–of this man specifically.

It’s an elusive vision of my father, who, s’times seems to be mystical figure to me.

I has no definitive memory of him except few scattered ones,–

Which does not help in paint the picture of him whole, —

But, instead make the picture abstract where there’s few pencil strokes.

The memory though, I don’t know,–

Whether a made-up one or a bit of memory that has remain tucked with me…

Shroud of elusive thoughts of my father (often ) enveloped me, like this,–

Any time of the day, any where I’m at, stopping me what I was doing–

And let me questioned his framed photograph–are you real or not…