Hey me, hey you, haiku.

I travelled through Europe recently. Only, it wasn’t that recently. It’s been almost two months since I’ve been home. It feels a world away already. Before July, I’d never written a haiku before. I’d never considered writing a haiku before. I think I’d read a grand total of two haiku before. And maybe, just maybe, I never appreciated the simplicity and power of the haiku before.

That all changed one night, around midnight, aboard a vessel bound for Istanbul. I would sit nightly on the stern, sometimes for hours on end, deafened by the wind, watching the moon grow larger and larger with each consecutive night. I had travelled across oceans near and far, but her sabled beams on the surface of the sea were unlike anything I had seen before.

This night, as the Aegean Sea gave way to that of Marmara, I asked myself just how a haiku was composed. It was based upon syllables; this, I knew for certain. But what were the magic numbers? I thought I knew them. I gripped my teacup tighter, and tapped my fingers against it to count the syllables out. By no means are these an embodiment of what haiku traditionally tried to capture, nor can I vouch for their quality, as I’ve not read any haiku since. These are merely the thoughts of a traveller upon a foreign sea, in 17 syllables.


Loveliest Luna,

Enamouring me nightly;

 A radiant eve.


Zephyrus, my friend.

Wisest now in your old age;

Your guidance, I seek.


Moonlight upon waves,

Endlessly captivating;

Liquid, or solid?


Ten million eyes,

No counsel they provide me;

Yet their light is warmth.


Your sideward glances,

The fluttering in my chest;

It is best this way.


“Moonlight is sculpture.”

Nathaniel Hawthorne


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