Few Lines for You

Anita Bacha

 

 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

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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

Altar Flowers

Yesterday’s close tight buds,

This morning ravishing full blooms,

Picked delicately from my garden,

Laid devoutly at your altar,

Shine their light like a hundred diyas,

A string of silent words,

An unwritten poem to my beloved.

Anita Bacha

Photo credit:Raj Swami/Rajasthan/India

Your Voice

Your voice is an eternal song,

Your voice lulls me to sleep,

Your voice calls me to dream,

Your voice brings tears to my eyes,

Your voice makes me smile,

Your voice seduces my mind,

Your voice unleashes my needs,

Your voice arouses my passion,

Your voice fills up my senses,

Your voice touches my soul,

Your voice is all I heed.

Anita Bacha

Photo credit:Raj Swami//Rajasthan /Parlika

www.anitabacha.com

AUTUMN

Anita Bacha

The fall comes in my garden as a sorceress

The sky covering the morning sun with a thick dimness

Broom sweeps, leaves and flowers fly off in a maelstrom

 Cold downpours freeze the subterranean thunderstorm

Birds flee up in the skies with a scream

Trout hide under the stones of the stream

I look full of hope, my love, at the radiance in the horizon

No matter the rain, the cold, the melancholy of the autumn season

Whatever the absence, the long days of waiting, the starless nights

Whatever the tears, the suffering and the frights

I wait, mad lover that I am, for your return in spring

Linger for the promised kisses, the delirious frolics in the field   

I dream of the elating scent of the rose on your tanned skin

I dream of poppies crushing on your mouth my stolen longing

Anita Bacha

Illustration/Photography Anita Bacha

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