A Few Thoughts On the Haiku
First thing that strikes is the deep contrast between the two things juxtaposed on the wrist and the wonderful link the word lightly creates between the two. The woman’s wrist lightly dabbed with perfume. Is she going out? Is she meeting someone? A friend? A date? Maybe she’s just staying at home, trying on a new perfume she bought.
On her lightly perfume-dabbed wrist sits a mosquito, lightly – not because it is a gentle-mosquito but purely because of its size. The mosquito is not quite a rogue either, as I do not get the feeling that it is going to prick the wrist anytime soon.
Poor thing, maybe I’m being too harsh on the mosquito. Perhaps there is some gentleness to it sitting lightly on the woman’s wrist. I can’t make up my mind, I can’t honestly picture a gentle-mosquito and believe it. So maybe I will lean towards believing it is a rogue mosquito. If that is the case, why does it not get going with sucking blood off her wrist? I think it might be paralyzed with the unpleasant surprise of having to deal with toxic chemicals on the woman’s skin before it could suck blood. Or, equally likely, the paralysis is actually real. The perfume might have incapacitated the mosquito. Poor thing.
Does the woman notice the mosquito on her wrist? Does it hit her that a mosquito is petrified on the same patch of her wrist that was lightly dabbed with newly bought perfume? How does she feel about the fact that her perfume, even when lightly applied, has potency to almost kill a mosquito? Indifferent? Worried for her skin? Worried for the mosquito?
— Sankara Jayanth Sudanagunta