Nirvana
A Haibun

She sat with her emerald dough eyes by the crackling fire with her homework book on her lap. The teacher had requested that the pupils write a poem about things they find to be beautiful. As the moon emerged from its gloomy shell, she finally found her beauty.
She picked up a fantasy book about a group of kids who find a carpet that can fly, and the little girl is fascinated. Could there be forms of magic hidden within the plain confines of this world? She would lay down a plate of mince pies and milk for Santa and a carrot for his reindeer at Christmas. The sky would sing her a celestial lullaby. From then on, she felt controlled by this concept of paper and ink. As she grew, ideas began to build, and her experiences of despair would lavish within her web of words.
Flesh of thy womb will — leave me screaming for a new nirvana escape






