Autumn Vibes

Sunrise, the highlight

Of this glorious morning,

Sparkles autumn leaves

The rain is falling,

Various ducks swim languidly,

On the swollen pond.

Brittle and fragile,

The tree releases the leaves,

They blow in the wind.

A walk in the park,

Brings back memories of you,

So far yet,so near.

End of October,

A yellow maple leaf falls,

Turns to syrup brown.

Autumn vibes are haikus I’ve written during the past few weeks,and sharing here. I am living on an island actually and here, we have only two seasons,summer and winter.Haiku poetry tickles the imagination and haiku lovers will find in these haiku poems illustrated with pictures, how very far the mind can travel, create and produce.

With love ❤️

Anita Bacha

Contemplation

May this waiting draw to a close, my love!
That very soon we are united at last,
In a mad and passionate hug;
My heart shall beat with your heart,
Away our tears shall flow in abundant joy,
Shall wet our parched lips of the grief,
Of the pain of thirsting desires;
That blessed under a starry night sky,
Your breath shall melt with my breath,
My eyes bathe in the clear pond of your gaze;
Swept into the furrows of time and space,
We forget the world, the universe, the Creator himself,
We forget the intense longing,
We forget the slow suffering,
That shall exist for us only our guiltless love!
Anita Bacha

Pure Love 💕

GOA Revisited

Sun glows in blue sky,

Gold ripples dance on the sea –

Time to set the sail.

Colorful fishing boats in Santa Paulo

Young tourist poses,

Older man sips lemonade,

Generation gap.

Sea view point

Humble hatched roof hut,

Lies behind tourist hotel,

Fisherman’s sweet home.

Fisherman’s hut in North Goa

Sun sets at seaside,

Colorful streaks brush the sky,

Footprints in wet sand.

Sundowner in Panaji

Sleek evening ripples,

The sun embraces, lying down –

Romantic season!

Beautiful sunset Santa Paulo

True to His Word

True to his word,

He was there, in the park,

Waiting for her,

She halted, looked around,

His words echoed in her ears,

In the morning gentle zephyr,

‘I will be there!’

‘I will be there for you!’

He cried out,

Last time they met and parted;

Stoic, handsome and shy,

Greener against the blue sky,

He smiled under its vast parasol;

The sight of him warmed her heart;

They talked,

They had so much to say to each other;

Then they fell into a deep silence,

It was not love,

It was not happiness,

It was a soul connection.

Anita Bacha

A tree

The Socks

The Socks
In coils like two cotton balls
Coated with dust
From under my bed
A brush stroke brought out the socks!
Forgotten
Abandoned
Consciously or unconsciously
The socks you left behind
Sad, blue
Filled with bitterness
The stare blank
The socks
I caught in my trembling hands
Gave me a lump in my throat
The socks recalled your being there
Curled against me in my bed
It was not a dream!
The socks made me a little scared
Fear the idea that you will never come back
To warm my bed
To cover me with delicious cuddles
The socks made me chuckle too
Giggle at the idea that I had never seen such large feet
Such big toes, teasingly tickling my feet
The socks revived in me the great happiness
These senseless moments
When we both laughed like kids
Happy to be together
Pleased that we had met
Pleased that we were in love!

Anita Bacha

The socks

Waiting for Spring

The fall forays my garden as a sorceress,

The sky covering the morning sun with 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;

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

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

Of poppies, crushing on your mouth my stolen longing.

Anita Bacha

Spring