The Night Train of Nagaur

How to tell you,

What is more painful than a blast in the ear,

More painful than a suppressed tear,

More painful than the whistle of a train,I hear;

How to tell you,

Nothing is more painful than your leave,

Feigning that without you I can live;

How to tell you,

What is a beloved without the lover,

Or a lover without the beloved,

Or me without you, or you without me;

How to tell you,

What is the sky without a moon,

Or a moon without the sky,

Or me without you, or you without me.

Anita Bacha

Photo credit -Rajesh Swami

anitabacha.com

How to tell you

How to tell you,

What is sweeter than a drop of honey,

Sweeter than a grain of sugar,

Sweeter than the juice of a strawberry;

How to tell you,

Nothing is sweeter than your tongue,

Melting like ice in my mouth;

How to tell you,

What is a flower without a bubble bee,

Or a bubble bee without a flower,

Or me without you, or you without me.

Anita Bacha

Photo credit: Anita Bacha

anitabacha.com

Happy Teddy Day

I close my eyes and I smile,

I think of my teddy by my side,

How chummy can we be,

Under the shower,

When we lather up each other playfully,

And,slurp the water running down our body;

On the bed,

When we touch every part of each other,

And,discover the joy of connubial intimacy;

Every thought of you,

The vegetable biryani we share,

The ride in the auto in the busy fair,

The transience of our meeting,

When you come home from the city,

The farewell,

When you leave to catch the night train,

The helpless look in your beautiful eyes,

A selfie, a promise to remain truthful,

No matter what, the lure,the pull;

My sweet hubby,

As I sit down to milk the cow in the shed,

I recall I am your Chocolaty milkmaid,

The girl from a faraway village,

In your book of fairies, a page;

Illiterate, I don’t know the word ‘Valentine ‘,

All I know, I am yours and you are mine.

Anita Bacha

Photo credit :Anita Bacha

Sopping Flower 🌺

You open to me in the heat of the sun,

Your purple color runs in my veins,

Your beauty is a divine perfume,

My life is imbued with your quintessence;

Once you teach me how to dance,

We twirl and we swirl in the wind,

A joyous song in our heart,

Heedless of the hammering rain;

Secretly in the chill of dusk,

You fold your dying petals,

Enclosing me in the depth of your soul.

Anita Bacha

anitabacha.com

Photo credit: Raj Swami