ten little fingers
of my deaf son …
swirling leaves

— Agus Maulana Sunjaya (Indonesia)
(Cattails – April 2021)

The depth of this beautiful haiku is difficult to decipher in a few words, as it has many dark and light shades of life a person may pass through. I don’t see it only from a disability perspective but the far side of certain realities that we may not be able to hear or feel.

‘Ten little fingers’ depict the deep connection that one has with the outer world that doesn’t need to be only heard. The sense of touch is a powerful sense that lets us feel the presence of both tangible and intangible things, which in this case may look more rhythmic where a deaf boy tries to feel the sound wave with his fingers.

I can see three aspects here. One is the sense of enjoyment where the boy feels the pulse of the wind that may be the autumn wind who confided in him and shares the secret of autumn like uplifted dry leaves, making them alive one more time before annihilation. The second aspect can be of mysticism or spiritualism—the third eye that becomes active usually when one has a disability. So, in this sense, the swirl of leaves looks more like a whirling dervish who is selflessly enjoying his life despite having flaws. The third angle is the sense of despair where the connectivity of his sense of touch brings nothing but a deep autumn where everything is scattered around him, and he, out of curiosity or confusion, wants to know what’s happening in his surroundings.

In terms of the kireji, the ellipses after ‘my deaf son’ shows how deeply the father feels and understands the pain of his son but is helpless to help him. It also alludes to the father’s anxiety about his son’s life, especially his future that he may perceive as swirling leaves, not settled well, but moving towards annihilation.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

This is a touching haiku. I directly resonate with nonverbal communication and the wordless space in this haiku. Especially because the word “little” is used, I imagine a baby. This leads me to believe the baby may have been born deaf. This by itself is very interesting. I’ve read that babies hear sounds in the womb as their brains are developing. I wonder if this is the case for babies who are born deaf. More specifically, in the mother’s womb, I wonder when exactly did this baby lose the capacity to hear? 

I’ve also read that people who are deaf see things more vividly as it heightens other senses. The last line gives me a playful, lighthearted feeling and also wonder.

As another interpretation, this haiku could lead me to imagine the poet’s young child is learning ASL and communicating in that way. I took ASL (American Sign Language) in college. One of my assignments was to live one day without speaking, wearing earbuds. At the grocery store, I relied on taking notes and reading body language to communicate. 

This is a beautiful haiku that makes me grateful for the ability to hear, and also makes me grateful for silence, where I feel a lot of love, gentleness, mystery, and compassion. 

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

This haiku caught me off guard because of its poignancy. The connection between the two parts of the haiku creates palpable imagery of beauty and a sense of sadness. Swirling leaves relate well to the motion of sign language, and readers can easily imagine the movement for themselves. With the autumn tone of this haiku, I can see wonder and melancholy.

Sonically, the stark sounds of “i” or “ee” in the haiku make me feel that the father is concentrating on his son and reflecting on his condition. It also brings about a sense of awe to my attention.

A touching haiku that can be felt as much as it can be thought about.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)