Tag: Creative writing

How to tell you (3)


How to tell you,
What is softer than the skin of a baby,
Softer than the feel of snow,
Softer than the petals of a rose,
How to tell you,
Nothing is softer than your hand,
Lying under my cheek,
When I sleep;
How to tell you,
What is a hand without warmth,
Or warmth without a hand,
Or a 🌹without petals,
Or petals without a 🌹,
Or me without you,or you without me.

Anita Bacha

Photo credit: Anita Bacha.

This is the third poem entitled ‘How to tell you’ that I have penned down. I thought my readers would be confused to read (3) in the title. Enjoy! The picture was shot by me at the wedding of my friend, the groom,in Rajasthan. His hand decorated with henna in the picture. I am using the picture to illustrate my poem. There is no connection between the poem and the picture.

Onset of Spring

Sunday lunch in a friendly bistro,
On the outskirts of Brussels;
A hanging smell of blubber,
Roast, mash and stew,
A man in an old over-coat,
Others in woollies and stoles,
Silently bent on their plates,
In their eyes, hope twinkles and smiles,
Shafts of sunlight
Break through closed windows,
Heralds the onset of spring;
Like man,
Nature too is keen on change.
A new coat, cheerful and light,
A scarf painted with colors, beautiful and bright.

Anita Bacha

Photo Credit: Anita Bacha.

I lived in Belgium for some time, more particularly,in Brussels for work and in Linkebeek with family and friends. I love the Belgian people both the French and the Flemish. I adore the food. I have left a piece of my heart in Belgium and I entertain the sincere wish of going back one day when the Spring breaks through.

Image of Snowing in Belgium cc. Anita Bacha.

My birth mother and my adoptive mother

My Birth Mother and My Adoptive Mother.

Her shiny brown eyes like ripe tamarind pulp,

Her olive color skin, her long flowing black hair,

Her cute oval face and sweet, crying voice,

Her fragrance, vetiver interlaced with wild musk,

Tore my heart apart as I let go of her linen camisole;

She is my mother!

Locked in her arms, I snuggle, forgetful of the world,

Throwing my legs and arms in gleeful abandon,

I yawn,

Languidly I open my eyes,

Her loving, sky blue gaze,

Her porcelain white skin glowing in the sun light,

Her golden curls dancing around her pretty face,

Her perfume, carnation interlaced with red rose,

Fill my heart as I bury my head in her silken stole,

She is my mother!

Mother is the one who renounced me,

Mother is the one who found me,

Mother Is

Mother always will be

Anita Bacha

I am sharing this poem that I wrote a decade ago when I was Head of the Central Authority for Inter-country Adoption , set up by The Hague Conference , in Mauritius. Strange are the ways of God, I found.Not every bud becomes a flower; not every daughter becomes a mother.Anita Bacha.

Illustrative photography: Anita Bacha.

You Are

You walk in my life unaware,

Inviting my pen to play melodies,

Of indescribable beauty on strings,

My fingers throbbing with love;

Don’t walk away unaware,

Breaking the rhythm of my heart beats,

Striking your name on strings,

My fingers blemished in ink;

You are the dancing script,

The humming pen, the amorous words,

You are around me, within me,

You are the poem you whispered in my ear.

Anita Bacha

Image of Radha Govind source Google

Quote for the Day

The birds were singing,

They didn’t understand

That, he was gone.

Anita Bacha

New Year Resolutions

Fabulous start of the week, dear followers,friends and readers 🥰
My resolutions for 2020 are to remain faithful and loyal to you;
To focus on my poetry and writing career;
To give the best of myself to the world .
I need your support which you can give me by reading my books, my posts and my write ups.
Where to find me?https://www.instagram.com/anitabacha/

https://mobile.twitter.com/anitabacha

https://m.facebook.com/anitabacha

https://www.facebook.com/poetanitabacha/

https://www.facebook.com/Ani.Bacha/

Most of all, give me Love 💗

Anita

I am Beauty

I open to the Rose,
And find myself,
Deep within perfumed folds of pink,
Drunk with beauty!
I open to the song of the bird,
To hear the music of my soul,
Singing free!
I open to the sky,
And find myself floating,
Soft and loving as a cloud!
I open to beauty and I open to myself,
I embrace beauty and know it as myself,
I let it in,
And let it shine.
-Anita Bacha-

The Other Side of Paradise

God only knows,
I saw your smile in the crescent of the moon,
I saw your tears sashaying the window screen,
Or was it raining on a full moon night,
God only knows,
I am madly in love with the idea of you,
The scent of henna on my beloved’s hand,
Breathes the perfume of rose in the desert sand,
God only knows,
How far the traveler has run around the globe,
I saw your footprints in a puddle of water,
I saw your fingers running in my tangled hair,
Or was it the rustling of the mimosa leaves
God only knows.
Anita Bacha

Photo credit: Anita Bacha

Smitten

O Man! Your heart is frozen,

As the highest peak capped with snow;

At your sight, I became smitten,

Your heart I cannot melt, I know;

My face covered with snow dust,

I shout your name in love and in lust ;

Cold and fixed,you are emotionless,

O Man! You are heartless!

Anita Bacha

Picture credit Facebook

BLUE GRASS – A Poem by Anita Bacha

A well kept secret is this flower
That did not bloom in the blue grass

Today the sky is deep green,
The grass is sapphire blue,
I walk up the heath,
To say a last farewell to you,
A well kept secret is this flower,
That didn’t bloom in the blue grass,
Yet its sweet fragrance will linger,
As far as memories will last.