The past is your lesson
The present is your gift
The future is your poetry
Anita Bacha
My poetry book SOUL POETRY was yet another opportunity for me to travel and discover the reading world.
It’s incredible and worthy to note that books have a precious place in the heart of the millennial, our audience today and tomorrow.
At the Kuala Lumpur International Book Fair 2018, I realized that it’s a great joy to witness readers, young and old,buying and investing in our words, in our poetry.
Come to me, my love
A dawn announces a new tomorrow,
Break off your fetters of pain and sorrow,
Wipe the tears from your searing eyes,
Dawn clears to-day with a swipe,
Come to me,
Come to me, my love,
The sun burns out,
Plunges in the arms of the sea to die,
The mountain lifts on her toes to hug the sky,
The repudiate lover holds on helplessly,
As dawn covers her cries cruelly,
Come to me, my love,
Let us spread our wings and fly
Anita Bacha
Illustrative/Photography/AnitaBacha
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
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…
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 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
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
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
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
Anita Bacha 