re:Virals 534

Welcome to re:Virals, The Haiku Foundation’s weekly commentary feature on some of your favorites among the best contemporary haiku and senryu written in English. In the host chair today is Susan Yavaniski. This week’s poem, chosen by Sudha Devi Nayak is:

distant stars—
the refugee mother rewrites
her lullaby

—Hifsa Ashraf,
Haiku Foundation Haiku Dialogue, October 29, 2025

Introducing this poem, Sudha writes:

The mother in this heartrending haiku is a refugee in a distant land singing to her child under different skies, different stars. Displaced from her home and country, in a state of fearful exile, exposed to the hazards of living in an unfamiliar environment, she still has to comfort her child. Her lullabies are no longer the joyful ones she once sang but laced with sadness and heartbreak. There are tears in her voice and she does not know how long she will remain a refugee, whether she will find welcome and a home in a foreign land or whether at all she can return to everything she knew and loved.

Hers is not a new story. She carries the story of all migrant populations forced to flee their countries as a result of war and violence and persecution, in search of homes and livelihoods. They will always carry the memories of places left behind and perhaps in their hearts will never truly belong to the places to which they have migrated, and they may never find the acceptance they desire.  They are confronted with an uncertain future.  As Salman Rushdie says: “Exile is an endless paradox: looking forward by always looking backwards.”

Host comment (Susan Yavaniski):

For many readers, this week’s verse will trigger a visceral emotional response, familiar as most are with the plight of millions of refugees worldwide, the majority of whom are women and children. Like Sudha, we immediately intuit the fear, heartbreak, tears, and sadness of the mother’s plight.

Yet at the heart of this senryu is an act of will and empowerment. Beneath “distant stars,” in a situation in which the fundamental reality she has known has shifted, a mother, in a small but significant way,  asserts herself as a participating author of her own and of her child’s destiny, “rewriting” the foundational song that will not only comfort her infant, but shape the child’s development.*  Ashraf’s verse,  heartrending though it may be, equally suggests the adaptability and the resilience which humans often summon in the face of adversity.

Reading this poem in the midst of this Christmas season,  the particular constellation of images—stars, refugee, mother, and by inference, infant—recalls the Biblical story of the birth of Jesus, particularly the account of mother and father fleeing their home with their infant son, taking refuge in Egypt to protect their child from King Herod’s threat of execution.  Like this week’s verse, the ancient story rouses sympathy for those in like circumstances and offers an example of perseverance and hope in times of difficulty.

Wishing everyone peace and courage in the coming year.

Pamela Garry:

Before the exodus, the desperate mother prayed for her family to be transported. Upon arrival, her prayers turned to returning home.

Radhamani Sarma:

Hifsa Ashraf ‘s powerful verse portrays love, love lost, and the agony of separation from a mother’s point of view.  In three lines, every choice of word conveys feelings of despair.

The very first line, “distant stars,” refers to her children living on an alien soil. Maybe they are hungry, doing hard work earning their own livelihood in their new country. The word ” distant” denotes a sense of longing for them, and the hyphen implies her endless conjecture about their situation.

In the second line, “the refugee mother rewrites,” the mother recalls her children’s presence.  Whether they were separated by war, religious persecutions, crime or fear of punishment, whatever be the reason, the absence of her near and dear ones is a misery that gnaws at her.

The mother takes refuge in music, in a world of her own.  She “rewrites / her lullaby” to take into account present circumstances. When a child is born, there is merriment, a mood of happiness and festivity; but for the “refugee mother” joy is short-lived. The lullaby is transformed into a longing for reunification and safety.

“If music be the food of love, play on” is a quote from Twelfth Night by Shakespeare. Here, music is the food for love, for love lost, for separation, for anxiety, and for a longing for reunification. Only a soothing melody can provide solace for a refugee mother’s heart and soul.

Urszula Marciniak—learning a new language:

The stars are far away. Maybe even so far away that they’re invisible. Another hemisphere. And the ones the refugee mother sees look alien. She already knows she won’t return to her homeland. She’s learning a new language, and her child will be rocked to sleep with a new version of a lullaby. She doesn’t want her child to long for something unattainable. She wants her new homeland to be her child’s homeland from the very beginning. She looks up again, and it’s still not her sky.

Author Hifsa Ashraf says:

I often write about war-related issues, and one of my poetry collections specifically focuses on the stories of refugee mothers and children. This haiku tells the story of a mother who, after being displaced by conflict, tries to hold on to a sense of normalcy and comfort by rewriting her lullaby, reshaping it to fit a world forever changed.

This haiku tells the tale of a mother who is forced to flee her home due to war, carrying with her not just physical burdens, but emotional ones too. In a foreign land (in a refugee camp), under a different sky, she tries to soothe her child, or she misses her child, but the lullaby she once knew no longer fits or she forgot it due to the traumatic experience of war. She rewrites her lullaby, perhaps in a new language, or with new memories to comfort her child in unfamiliar surroundings or deeply in a grief sharing her feelings of longing for her child who is no longer with her.

This opening sets a vast, quiet, almost timeless atmosphere. Distant stars symbolize both wonder and longing. Their distance means disconnection, loss of touch, and/or a sense of being far from home.

A lullaby is intimate, holding some personal touch with it which may be a memory or the only way to console her child who may or may not be with her. To rewrite it may mean changing the words, melody, or even language, adapting her tenderness and love to new surroundings, new fears, and hopes.

The contrast between stars and a mother’s lullaby depicts the emotional depth, showing how even in exile, love and care don’t fade.

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Urszula Marciniak has chosen next week’s poem, which you’ll find below. We invite you to write a commentary to it. It may be short, or of moderate length, academic, your personal response, spontaneous, or idiosyncratic.  As long as it focuses on the verse presented, and with respect for the poet, all genuine reader reaction, criticism, and pertinent discussion is of value.   Out-takes are kept in the THF Archives.  Best of all, the chosen commentary’s author gets to pick the next poem.

Anyone can participate. During this festive season, the hamster wheel will be paused for a couple of weeks, but stay tuned for Keith’s year-end housekeeping post and thoughts next Friday, December 26th. In the meantime, readers have two weeks to submit their commentary.  Simply use the re:Virals commentary form below to enter your commentary on the new week’s poem (“Your text”) by midnight (Eastern US Standard Time) on Tuesday, December 30th, 2025. Press Submit to send your entry. The Submit button will not be available until Name, Email, and Place of Residence fields are filled in. We look forward to seeing your commentary and finding out about your favourite poems.

Poem for commentary:

     
Grasshoppers...
I can't run or jump
anymore
— Satoru Kanematsu
  ASAHI HAIKUIST NETWORK, October 4, 2024

Footnote:

Bio:

Hifsa Ashraf is an award-winning multilingual poet, author, editor, and social activist based in Rawalpindi, Pakistan. She is the author of six individual and four collaborative micropoetry books.

She received The Touchstone Award for Individual Poems 2021 from The Haiku Foundation (USA), and her poem was also shortlisted for the 2022 Touchstone Award. Her poetry collection Her Fading Henna Tattoo received Honourable Mentions in both the Touchstone Distinguished Books Award 2020 and the Haiku Society of America Merit Book Award 2021.

Her latest collaborative poetry collection, Beyond Emptiness, is co-authored with Jacob D. Salzer and Nicholas Klacsanzky.
Please visit her blog to view her published work hifsays.blogspot.com or follow her on social media at @hifsays.

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* On how lullabies support child development, see The Science of Lullabies.

re:Virals is co-hosted by Shawn Blair, Melissa Dennison, Susan Yavaniski, and Keith Evetts (managing editor).

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