December 2025 – Haiku Commentary

graduation party
every firework ember
falling to earth

— John Shiffer (USA)
Published in Modern Haiku, 56:3, Autumn, 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku captures a bittersweet moment of transition, one that encompasses both endings and new beginnings. The graduation party is a universal milestone, marking a culmination of years of learning, friendships, and youthful freedom. The phrase is straightforward with no punctuation or emotional exaggeration, mirroring the simplicity and shared nature of the experience. It’s a scene most of us can relate to, making it emotionally accessible and real.

The second line acts as a pivot, symbolizing the peak of celebration where fireworks represent excitement, hope, and brilliance. But, there’s a quiet shift as we read “every firework ember/ falling to earth.” The embers, though once radiant, now fall, showing the fleeting nature of youth and celebration. The descent signifies the reality that follows: adulthood, responsibility, and an unknown future.

The closing line, “falling to earth,” deepens the metaphor. It suggests a grounding after a high, a fall not necessarily in failure, but in transition. It’s the movement from a protected world into a vast, unpredictable one. The contrast between the light of the ember and the gravity of its fall is powerful and unique, which lets us reflect on contrasting scenes, suggesting the impermanence and transience of life.

withered flowers
on the temple chariot
morning twilight

— Sathya Venkatesh (India)

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

A powerful haiku that shows impermanence and age-old traditions that have survived over several generations. I see the last line as a metaphor for the mystery of the afterlife. I interpret the morning twilight as a time when our souls continue, long after the physical body (perhaps symbolized by the withered flowers) fades away.

According to Symbolism – Hindu Temple Chariot As Replica Of The Temple by Abhilash Rajendran:

“In many parts of India the sight of a majestic temple chariot rolling slowly through crowded streets is both stirring and sacred. Known as the ratha, these elaborately carved wooden vehicles carry the utsava murti—the processional image of the deity—beyond the temple walls. In effect, the ratha becomes a moving replica of the inner sanctum, bringing the divine presence to every doorstep. This article explores the rich symbolism of the temple chariot, the reasons for its enduring popularity, the profound idea of the god leaving his abode, and many other fascinating facets of this age-old tradition. At its core the ratha is not merely a transport but a microcosm of the temple itself. Every design element echoes architectural features of the permanent shrine: towering pillars reflect temple gopurams, carved panels depict mythic scenes found on sanctum walls, and a miniature vimana (temple tower) crowns the top. When the deity’s image is placed upon this mobile shrine, worshippers are reminded that the chariot is a fully consecrated temple in motion. This replication underlines the belief that the divine resides not only within stone walls but in the very heart of the community.”

I appreciate the notion of seeing the divine in the ordinary. It speaks to a universal compassion that is quite powerful as it transcends our many differences and unites people.

In summary, this is a powerful haiku that sparks deep conversations about age-old spiritual and religious traditions, the impermanence of our brief human lives, the importance of community, and the mystery of the afterlife. Equally important, it shows a kind of compassion that’s universal, revealing divinity or spiritual energy within all people. A beautiful haiku.

protesters marching
wearing
sweatshop shoes

— Michael Battisto (USA)
Published in Modern Haiku 52:1, 2021

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This senryu hinges on irony and ethical tension—a hallmark of the genre’s focus on human behavior. The opening line, protesters marching, shows collectivity and moral purpose. However, as is often the case in senryu, this one ends with a shock of hypocrisy.

The second line, wearing, sets up the suspense for the third line. It is a fine use of enjambment, and the line matches the first line with prominent “e” and “r” sounds to create euphony.

The final line, sweatshop shoes, delivers the punchline—with more euphony. The imagery exposes an uncomfortable contradiction: even with good intentions, we are irrevocably contributing to ubiquitous and exploitative companies. Living in the modern world, we would have to live off the grid to fully rid ourselves of these greedy practices—even with something as simple as shoes. With a masterful stroke, the poet refrains from judgmental language, allowing the irony to speak for itself.

The poem’s emotional effect is quiet but sharp. It provokes self-reflection rather than outrage, as the reader is implicated alongside the protesters. In this way, this senryu eventually centers on empathy. The march continues but with an unresolved weight on its feet.

Utagawa Hiroshige I (1797–1858, Japan), Fireworks at Ryogoku (bridge), #98 from the One Hundred Famous Views of Edos eries,1858. Color woodcut print on paper, 14 3/16″ x 9 7/16″ (36 x 24 cm). © 2017 Brooklyn Museum. (BMA-822)

border outpost—
the sandbag wall
sprouts weeds

— Neena Singh (India)
hedgerow, #150, October 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

War and conflict-related haiku often resonate deeply with me, as the theme aligns with one of my core areas of interest. This particular poem instantly takes me to a tense border outpost, where I can almost sense the presence of surveillance and patrolling troops. It evokes not just conflict but the psychological barrier that accompanies division and hostility. Symbolically, it’s not the border itself that divides people but the mindset behind it. The em dash after line one adds a subtle pause, creating a link that suggests a deeper association with the border, both physically and ideologically.

The sandbag wall can be seen as a symbol of protection, whether from natural disasters or human threats. It creates a barrier not just to movement but to differing narratives or perspectives. Yet, sand itself represents adaptability as it adjusts itself according to the environment. In this way, the wall becomes a sign of both hurdles and resilience.

The final line, ‘sprouts weeds,’ brings in a hope in a tough element that cannot be stopped, even in a rigid and controlled environment. Weeds may be seen as unwelcome, but they are also symbols of persistence and continuity. Their presence suggests that even in the most restricted areas, life finds a way. It may also hint at the unresolved histories that cannot be buried or walled off entirely and may continue to resurface despite the suppressed and difficult conditions.

Finally, the soft ‘s’ and ‘w’ sounds add to the haiku’s depth, echoing wind, whispering secrets, hushed tension, and quiet movements.

the faint hum
of the hallway light—
still breathing

— Anne Kulou (Germany)

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This haiku explores a quiet moment in which the hum of artificial light becomes a mirror to the poet’s sense of aliveness. The crux of this poem lies in this interaction between the environment and inner self, which is often employed in the best haiku, as seen in poets like Basho, Santoka, Chiyo-ni, and Tohta.

The poem lacks a kigo or seasonal reference, but it definitely has a mood. In my opinion, the atmosphere of the haiku leans towards winter or late autumn, when nights are long, and people stay indoors. The absence of a kigo is not a weakness, as many haiku are traditionally written as non-seasonal, named muki haiku. As more people live in urban environments, non-seasonal haiku is likely to become more prevalent.

With the em dash in the first line, the poet creates a cut, or kireji, that separates the two parts of the haiku. It also brings about a sense of immediacy, whereas with an ellipsis, the reader would think it is more of a continuous scene. The choice of an em dash makes the haiku more raw and present.

In looking at the toriawase, or harmony/combination of parts, the monotonous hum of a hallway light mixes with the continuity of breathing. It demonstrates a synthesis between the human-made world and humanity itself. The word “hum” even suggests that the light is breathing, too. Also, the word “faint” is most likely a reflection of how the poet is feeling in comparison to the light fixture. In this sense, the poet and the light fixture become connected, and fraternity grows between them.

Exploring the haiku on a sonic level, the letter “h” stands out the most. “hum” and “hallway” hit a punctuated, yet light rhythm. Other soft consonants like f, m, l, th, and br help to make the haiku “hum” like the scene in the poem.

The pacing of the haiku is traditional in terms of Japanese haiku rhythm, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short last line. This pacing lends to the content well, as it gives the haiku an introspective air. The diction is also casual and direct, which is aligned with haiku tradition.

This haiku seamlessly blends past and present aesthetics. With foundational elements of haiku, the poet explores a non-seasonal, urban environment that turns towards self-reflection with artistic precision.

autumn rose
on his car’s dashboard
—blind date night

— Sheikha A. (Dubai, United Arab Emirates)

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

An intriguing haiku that explores the psychological complexity of a blind date.

The autumn rose as the first line is intriguing by itself, as roses are typically associated with spring. It seems the autumn rose signifies that something or someone has passed away, and there is an unfolding or rebirth of some kind. The man’s previous partner may have passed away, or they may have separated, and now the poet is open to dating again.

A blind date can have a wide range of outcomes, as both people rely on their intuition and questions to get to know each other better, though first impressions can be deceiving. Leaving a rose on the dashboard could show that the man has a hopeful mindset, or it could be a sign that he may be trying too hard to make a first impression. In the dating world, for many people, it is a competition. Who is going to find a true and lasting partner? Perhaps the rose is a way to try to stand out from the crowd. In this haiku, the blind date could have been going to a drive-in movie, or the poet could be saying goodbye and noticed the rose while walking past his car in the parking lot. Was the rose meant for the poet, and he decided not to give it to her? Did he give her the rose, and she didn’t accept it? Or was the rose meant for someone else and was left behind from a previous date? There is some mystery. The autumn rose signifies how so much of our communication is non-verbal. The transient beauty of the rose also comes with thorns, which seem to signify danger and/or protection. Indeed, all relationships have a degree of risk as trust is gradually established. The autumn rose could also relate to how a blind date doesn’t last long but can have its own beauty, even if the blind date doesn’t find rich soil that blossoms into a romantic relationship.

The term “blind date” also has room for more than one meaning. Aside from not knowing the person, what are we blind to within our own self? Sometimes, the person on the blind date can be a kind of mirror that reflects something within ourselves that we didn’t notice or pay attention to.

In summary, this is an interesting haiku that explores the psychological depth and complexity of relationships and dating.

Haiku Commentary

Month: December 2025

Haiku and Senryu by John Shiffer, Sathya Venkatesh, and Michael Battisto

Haiku by Neena Singh, Anne Kulou, and Sheikha A.