Happy Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day!
Sharing a poem dedicated to my mother who left this world at the age of 42 after a long illness of innumerable years.


THE APPLE OF MY EYE

She was walking on the beach
A long skirt hiding her knees
Dotted with tiny blue florets
A white linen blouse flattened her bosom
Prude,
She never wore a bathing suit

Immaculate as the sunset
Pretty as a picture
Mysterious as the sea
Smiling to herself
Poetic, in love, sweet,
A dreamer
She fell in love only once
People said
The blessed day was her wedding day

A long trail of foot steps
She left
Printed in the moist sand
In joyous innocence
Behind her I walked
Placing my steps
One by one in her wake
She was the apple of my eye!
She was my mother!
Anita Bacha

Excerpt from my poetry book SOUL POETRY

The Sea

Listen to the lament of the forlorn sea,
She is calling your name!
Listen to the rhythm of her beating waves,
She is calling your name!
Listen to the sea,
Listen to her beseeching vow,
She is missing you!
She misses your body,
Floating frivolously like seaweed,
Dancing and curving her waves,
She misses your smell,
Deliciously and fondly fading with hers,
She wants to tenderly hold you,
And, never let you go,
Engulf you in the nudity of her waves,
Deep into the profundity of her bewitching charm,
Rocking you once again in her arms

Santa Paula, Goa January 2020

Anita Bacha

Goat Story

One day, an old and worn-out goat was quietly crossing over a bridge under which a river was flowing. Coming in the opposite direction gallantly, was a sturdy young goat. When they reached the middle of the bridge, they realized there was not enough room for two goats to pass. They halted. The young goat said in a threatening voice, ready to come to thorns-
‘Out of the way you so and so! I am in a hurry!’
The old goat felt the looming sparks of hostility in the air. He had fought several fights in his life and this young goat, he thought, would be K.O in the first round! But wisdom dawned upon him.
‘The bridge is made of bamboo and is not solid. What if it collapses during the struggle? We will both fall into the river with dire consequences!’ He reflected.
‘Look here, young chap!’ He addressed his opponent with diplomacy. ’There is no point in fighting! I will lie down on my tummy and you can walk across on my back!’
No sooner said than done, each goat went off on his way happily!
-Anita Bacha-

I Promise You

My love, I promise you my ink,

My heart bleeds of words I think,

Of impossible love and pain,

My tears flow incessantly as rain,

Eroded a painting of sea and sand,

Dreams of escape to a green island;

My love, I promise you my ink,

As long as my breath doesn’t sink,

Blood flows in my veins,

A song in my memory remains.

Anita Bacha

Photo credit @anitabacha

The Butterfly 🦋

THE BUTTERFLY
I sit by my window,
I behold a magic butterfly!
A rainbow butterfly!
Gorgeous hues of red, blue, indigo,
Orange, green, heavenly mauve,
Immaculate yellow,
Fluttering loftily,
Flying stealthily,
Flirting with sweet flowers so lovely!
A discreet kiss on the lips of the white pansy,
A soft caress on the dahlia’s cheek,
A gentle stroke on the red nose of the poppy!
Hibiscus, violets,
Budding marigolds,
Chuckle and open their folds,
Engrossed by the magic butterfly!
A fragrant red rose,
Spreads her velvety petals,
Lingers and whimpers!
In the wilderness, disappears the magic butterfly!

Anita Bacha

RESTONS À LA MAISON 🏡

Soudainement, sans avertissement,

Notre beau pays, Ile Maurice, est pris d’assaut,

Un ennemi mortel paraît, on n’est sait d’où,

Il s’attaque à nous,

Il est minuscule mais malin,

Il s’appelle Corona, il est là,

Invisible mais invincible,

Il ne choisit pas, voyons,

Noir, blanc, jaune, marron,

Homme, femme, jeune ou vieux,

Riche, pauvre, vaillant, peureux,

Il s’attaque à tous,

Confinement solitaire,

Couvre-feu sanitaire,

À la maison, pour se taire,

Un peuple uni sortira vainqueur.

Anita Bacha

SPRING IS HERE


With a magic splash of fresh paints,
Trees and plants
Grim and dark,
With a spark
Into emerald green, are changed,
Donned is the sky in glistening blue,
Splendid and meek, the golden sun
Flirts jauntily,
Budding flowers kissing delicately
Coaxing beauty in the fun;
As spring plays with colors,
With the melodious songs of birds,
With the waltz of cheery butterflies,
With the noble heart of man,
New hopes, like fresh petals unbolt,
Blossoming gaily in the garden of life.

Anita Bacha

My Sweet Lord


The grains of sand tickle my feet,
I close my eyes,
Is it you, my sweet Lord,
Filling my soul with vibes divine?
The sea amorously laps my toes,
I close my eyes,
Is it you, my sweet Lord,
Sending cosmic waves down my spine?
As I stroll down the shore
‘I have caressed His Feet! ‘whispers the sand;
‘I have kissed His toes!’ murmurs the sea,
You walk with me, my sweet Lord!Anita Bacha