I ran to catch a fistful of sand,
Where unaware,
Your bare feet had trodden;
A fistful of sand, to treasure;
Somewhere,
A dream had broken.
Anita Bacha
INK
In chaos, my world collapses,
My pen drops,
A wound on my ring finger,
Betrayed …
By my lover,
An ironic wasteland is my heart,
Dumped …
Love loses its eulogy,
Fragmented…
In a puzzle chemistry,
Poets run out of verses,
Tumbled…
Face down in infamy;
Suddenly,
Out of nowhere,
Loose petals of words,
Fall in cascades,
Cover my lifeless body,
Awakened…
From the torpor
Of self imposed penalty,
Wet…
Under the mosquito net,
Stained…
My bed linen,
With ink from your pen !
Anita Bacha
Writer’s note -The first half was complete but followed a systematic writer’s ( or lover’s) block. One sentence “do not let go of my hand” was all I needed to dip the nib of my pen in the ink pot of the vast ocean of Love and write…
The Butterfly and the Rose
He hurried down the hill, the playful butterfly,
Thirsting for his queen, the morning rose;
She turned her face, shunned the fickle lover,
The rose;
Fluttered the butterfly closer,
Tenderly to woo the rose,
Beg for mercy,
To caress once more her silken blossom,
Languorously to cradle in her folds;
Aloof she stood in the rising sun, the rose;
In the vanity of her solitude,
Frigid, in the pervasive warmth that arose,
Naked, deceived and betrayed,
Indignant by the deep humiliation,
The Queen of flowers, the rose!
Her magnificent crimson petals, she had shed,
Her strong, splendid green leaves had fallen,
Her sharp, shielding thorns were gone,
Lost in the wilderness her alluring perfume;
One time the butterfly stroke her,
Forever he touched her soul!
Anita Bacha
http://poetryofanitabacha.com/
My Burning Heart
My friends have become strangers
And I’m surrounded by ennemies
But I’m free as the wind
No longer hurt by those who reproach me
RUMI
Freedom
I fly free with the butterflies,
In the midday sun,
Leaving behind the darkness,
Of the night;
Words are my wings,
Poetry liberates my soul,
From the world’s shackles and lies.
Anita Bacha
Photo credit:Raj Swami
The First Leaf 🍁 of the Fall
Behold the first turn of the autumn leaf 🍁
From green ☘️to amber light,
From yellow to rusty veins;
Behold the game of life,
Like the autumn leaf 🍂
We have lived,
Knowing life is a gift 💝 of God,
Gracefully, we detach,
We take our leave,
Make way for new leaves 🍀🌿🍃🍀
Anita Bacha
Illustrative/Photography/Anita Bacha/Frankfurt/Germany
Speck of Pink
Your lips have not touched mine,
Your searing eyes mime,
What your heart cannot hold;
Should I seal with a kiss 😘
Receive your love or dismiss,
What my heart ❤️ cannot hold.
Anita Bacha
Photo credit: Ocean Vibrations
Thought for the Day
Few Lines for You
In silence I probe my heart
To write some lines for you
‘Ask the meadow!’ Says my heart
’Ask the flower!’ Says the meadow
‘Ask the lake!’ Says the flower
Lulled by quiet inspiration
These lines I write for you
Afloat on a lake of heavenly bliss
In the meadow of my heart
On a bed of scented flowers
Your memory lingers
As profound as the still waters
As vast as the meadow
As nostalgic as the perfume of wild blooms
If I were to forget you
I would forget the meadow, the flower, the lake
I would forget my poetry
Anita Bacha
In the rain
The torrential rain continues to make the sea rise,
My body lying on the beach stirs up the winter,
The wounds are left open;
A cold breeze envelops my inert body,
Despite the rain and the cold, my heart is in flames.
Illustration/photography/Anita Bacha
Anita Bacha 