Haiku for Healing – Haiga as a Healing Practice
Week 1 photo prompt
This series of 6 photo prompts features the photographs of the well-known haiga poet, and editor, Lavana Kray. A photo prompt is posted each Monday starting on Monday, 9th February 2026. This is the second part of the Haiga as a Healing Practice feature of H4H, which looks to explore the healing potentials of haiga, a poetic form related to haiku, in dealing with illness, bereavement, estrangement, displacement, isolation and loneliness.
The experience and perspective of a poet is unique and we want to showcase this singular voice. Thus, the individual photo prompt has no title or accompanying text.
Take a cue from Lavana’s inspirational interview and consider how does the image distil the “residues” of your experience? Does it bring to mind the yearning in William Blake’s “winged life”* with its lightness of joy and release or does it evoke what Thomas Hardy described as the “the sorriness underlying the grandest things”?** Look inside and outside yourself Lavana urges and find that “something” that will best convey what you want to say.
In the Comments box below, please post no more than two original, unpublished haiku or senryu inspired by the photo on the theme of healing. In the spirit of empathy and connection we request that you comment on the other poems posted here.
Notes
* “Eternity”, William Blake (1757-1827)
** Notebook entry for 19 April 1885, Thomas Hardy (1840–1928)
Sonam Chhoki
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Bios
Lavana Kray is from Romania. Over the years, she has won various prizes in haiku and tanka competitions. The World Haiku Association awarded her the title of Master Haiga Artist. Her work has appeared in many print and online publications, as well as in Haiga Exhibitions organized by the World Haiku Association in Japan and Italy. The Laval Literary Society from Canada awarded her the André-Jacob-Entrevous Prize 2023, for a literary text (haiku) combined with an artistic visual. She currently serves as haiga editor for the online journal of Japanese short forms, cattails. She has published five photo-haiku books, one tankart collection and a photo-haibun book.
She is owner-editor of https://ourbesthaiga.blogspot.com/
https://thehaikufoundation.org/thf-galleries-photo-haiku-of-lavana-kray/
Sonam Chhoki finds the Japanese short-form poetry resonates with her Tibetan Buddhist upbringing. She is inspired by her father, Sonam Gyamtsho, the architect of Bhutan’s non-monastic modern education and by her mother, Chhoden Jangmu, who taught her: “Being a girl doesn’t mean you can’t do anything.” She is the principal editor, and co-editor of haibun for the online journal of Japanese short forms, cattails.
Her chapbook of haibun, The Lure of the Threshold was published in May 2021. Mapping Absences, a collaboration of haibun, tan bun and tanka prose with Mike Montreuil was published in 2019. Another collaboration with Geethanjali Rajan: Unexpected Gift was published in November 2021. She organised a year-long email course in 2024 for The Haiku Foundation’s Haiku for Parkinson’s project.
Read past Haiku for Healing posts here.
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Comments (66)
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the space between chairs
what’s no longer there
the urge to embrace
still no spring
two of us and one chair
between us
winter darkness
but a few chairs herald
a change
Interesting and catchy poems…
Thank you, Lavana, for your appreciation. I admire others for their subtlety, which I still lack.
silent remnants
of white nights
in shadow
soft grass –
where even emptiness
belongs
1
bench in the shade –
the jagged edge
of that photo
2
do you remember
that scent of lime trees…
where were we?
Error in L3
how we were ist corect
prayer meeting
the echo of silence
breathes
winter chill
the snow-white sari
gathering her grief
Lakshmi Iyer
India
So much meaning contained in such delicate, beautiful words.
shying away
from the spotlight
the girl and her shadow
still trees
in the dark night
thoughts screaming
garden moonlight
the unopened
lab report
I feel this last line especially. What does it foreshadow!
revision (tighter, less repetition of the image, feels less like a caption)
moonlight
the unopened
lab report
the ache of sorrow
slowley dissolves in tears
let them freely flow
the silent sound of
words that never have been said
resonates in heart
my husband asks
if we’re the only ones here–
brain plaque
the softening
of winter bells
carrying her home
sharing a peg
the mindfulness
of spring chatter
beside me
on the hearth
old friends in sepia
family tree
peeling an apple
from the moonlit side
Joanna Ashwell
Beautiful poems. The last haiku is very interesting, it stimulates our imagination.
the smiles
she’ll never forget —
the flag-draped coffin
graveside service…
a minister waits
for the family
quiet music –
my teenagers can’t
stand
you thoughts
fragrance of cherry petals
in the breeze
a brown-edged invite
to the graduation party
our four names on it
A wedding invitation kept for years for its importance in the family, and the browning of its edges reflects that it is too important to ever put in the bin OR those four names important since that was the last time the four were all together. Lots of possibilities in this haiku, Keith.
Amend that, graduation, not wedding….but still the same impressions. Sorry, Keith. I’d blame it on Otto Correct, but it is my mustake.
emptiness seated
at the dining table
an invitation
no chairs left
a gentleman stands
welcome
once or twice for a wedding
hands in our laps
counting years
past, present, future
all the wishes
that don’t come true
runaway bride
It’s a very nice interpretation, it fits well with the image. I love it.
still shrouded
the secrets
we never shared
no encores
the final stage
she couldn’t conquer
places vides
le regard ne se lasse pas
de t’imaginer
Hi Anne-Marie,
Your response to Lavana’s evocative photo has a cadence that comes across even to a non-French speaking person like myself. It’s almost like a sigh.
Not to be daunted by my lack of French, l requested Mike Montreuil, who writes and translates French poetry into English.
He says it’s a powerful poem of loss and here is his translation:
empty spaces
my gaze never tires
of imagining you
Translated by Mike Montreuil, Canada
Thank you for sharing this poignant poem.
Sonam
swaddled
in grandma’s arms
her last smile
shrouded figures
chant in the night
a bell tolls
1
curtain up…
the fireflies put on
a free show
2
silent space
my teasing thoughts
in syllables
A quiet space and a few thoughts in three syllables—three chairs—why not. An ingenious interpretation of the photograph. I like poems that give the reader time to think. Congratulations, Raji!
Thank you, Lavana, for this wonderful response and such a pleasure to read your take on it too!
the departure
as always
inconspicuous
last call
returning home
alone
Delicate, moving poems.
haiku:
a final kiss
after the
church bells
white lilies
gently unfold
their wings
Few words, much emotion. The spirit of haiku.
in the spotlight
stiff white sheets
engulf me
my favorite chair
soft indentations
a warm embrace
white coats
around the body
a dark presence
waiting for
the test results
ghosts gather
I could have sworn I typed my last name.
Forgive me if I seem a bit thin-skinned, but l don’t think a public forum is the place to try to “improve ” another person’s haiku/senryu. Yo remember what Mom said.
Agree with Christopher.
Christmas Eve
each year another
empty chair
You capture the vastness of emptiness that this photo evokes and created a truly poignant poem, Michele.
A minimalist and moving poem, in the spirit of haiku. I would gladly sign it as my own. Congratulations!
So poignant. Reminds us all of those we’ve lost. Especially when you reach my age.😉
Perfect Michele
Perfect Michele – succinct and meaningful
corridor echoes
white sheets pulled up
for the dead of night
This gave me the shivers. I spend a lot of time in hospitals wondering about late night noises in the hall. Now I know.
Thanks Michele – a haiku for time spent saying goodby to loved ones
I would remove the word “for.” Better flow.
Your decision to use ‘for the dead of night’ instead of ‘in the dead of night’ really is a discomforting surprise that elevates the poem, John.
Cheers Eavonka, that’s what I wanted. Without ‘for’ it wouldn’t work for me.
Crossed legs dirt, grass burn
Staining, your stars laughing dares
Empty slates taunting
Plastic covers sooth
brokenness, despair made clean
rejecting your dirt
Your second poem aches with memories of the elder relatives of my youth, Lynn.
moment of silence
for the students
who could not attend
with the last
shovel of dirt
mourners leave for home
Hi Christopher
In the first one, I would remove ‘the’ from the middle line. That gets you a kireji break at the end of line one and establishes a little surprise in the third line. A good match with the image.
Thanks for your input, but it does not seem appropriate.
Suggestive and emotional poems. Perfectly matching the image without describing it, just adding something the author imagined about these three white chairs. Congratulations!
Lavana
You really capture the depths of sadness felt in each of your poems, Christopher.
Thanks so much, Eavonka!
The quiet sorrow evoked in your poems truly lingers. Great job.