Short Story ‘Harry and Krishna’

Anita Bacha

Once there was a little boy who lived with his poor, widowed mother in a far away village.

His name was Harry. During school holidays he had no friend with whom to play. His mother was a loving woman and played with him when she was not busy with her household chores. One day, however, she fell ill and Harry became very lonely. His mother consoled him and told him to go out and play with Krishna.

‘Who is Krishna?’ Harry asked his mother.

‘Krishna is the friend of all!’

Harry rushed out eagerly calling ‘Krishna! Krishna!’

‘Hello!’ said a cow herd boy coming from behind a tree ‘why are you calling my name?’

“Let’s play!’ Harry uttered with joy.

They played together during the school holidays.

Back to school, Harry told the school master about his new friend, Krishna. The school master listened to his story but did not…

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A Flower in My Hair

Anita Bacha

Today I wear a fresh flower in my hair,

My sweet sweetheart is here,

For the city, he left me asunder,

How I lived without him, I wonder;

Red florets I wore on our wedding night,

The gems he put in my hair under the moonlight,

Are the pressed blooms under my pillow,

How I slept without him, do you know?

Anita Bacha

Photo credit: Rajesh Swami

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Save My Ego

Prattling of raindrops on the roof,

Rivaling beats of drums aloof,

Senseless stares in an empty space,

Trying hard to read your face,

No regret,no remorse,no shame,

For you it was just a game;

Breathless when I say goodbye,

Hiding from you my hurt,my cry,

She has come back, I cannot stay,

Love triangles are doomed anyway;

Babbling of voices in my head,

Competing with singings of the dead,

I hold my heart, I have to let you go,

Broken,I have nothing left save my ego.

Anita Bacha

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How to tell you

Anita Bacha

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 bumble bee,

Or a bumble bee without a flower,

Or me without you, or you without me.

Anita Bacha

Photo credit: Anita Bacha

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A Flower in My Hair

Today I wear a fresh flower in my hair,

My sweet sweetheart is here,

For the city, he left me asunder,

How I lived without him, I wonder;

Red florets I wore on our wedding night,

The gems he put in my hair under the moonlight,

Are the pressed blooms under my pillow,

How I slept without him, do you know?

Anita Bacha

Photo credit: Rajesh Swami

Facebook.com/anitabacha

Instagram.com/anitabacha

Twitter.com/anitabacha

Flowering

Anita Bacha

The flower doesn’t dream of the 🐝

It blossoms and the 🐝 comes

– Rumi

Quote of Rumi

Photo credit: Anita Bacha

These pictures were clicked by me last July at Borehamwood in England.

The A1 shooting group in Borehamwood is a family-run clay target shooting facility offering English Sporting, Olympic Trap and Helice.

Every summer, I visit the shooting ground with my family for the pleasure of holding a shotgun, and to enjoy a walk in the countryside.

I was happily surprised to find bumblebees in a bush on a sidewalk.

I stopped with my IPhone and caught some beautiful pictures of bumblebees romancing with flowers, undisturbed by the deafening sound of shooting. They were peaceful and happy, totally ignorant of the world around them.

The flowers, I observed, were not budding, new blooms or half blooms or full blossoms for that matter but withering flowers, some had lost…

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