Your book of poetry
Dried roses in the old chest
Legacy of love
Gone too early beloved
Yellow pages soaked with tears
Anita Bacha
Thank you for your visit, my dear friends
Legacy of Love – A Tanka Poem by Anita Bacha
Tag: Love
A Single Pink Rose – A Haiku Poem by Anita Bacha
a single pink rose
in my lone winter garden
rich with love fragrance
Anita Bacha
Thank you for your visit, my dear friends
Xmas’s in the air – A haiku poem by Anita Bacha
Xmas’s in the air
Festive decorations herald
Love and forgiveness
Anita Bacha
Good evening,my dear friends. Let’s walk together the streets of Oxford Circus and enjoy a before taste of Christmas 2022.
The Other Side Of Paradise – A Love Poem by Anita Bacha
God only knows,
She saw your smile in the crescent of the moon,
She saw your tears sashaying her window screen,
Or was it raining on a full moon night;
God only knows,
She was madly in love with the idea of you,
The scent of henna on her beloved’s hand,
Breathed the perfume of rose in the desert sand;
God only knows,
How far this traveler had run around the globe,
She saw your footprints in a puddle of water,
She saw your fingers running in her tangled hair,
Or was it the rustling of the mimosa leaves;
God only knows,
She was intoxicated by the words falling from your lips,
She let you feast on her riches and her body,
She let you steal her soul,
She lost herself in you and she came to be you;
God only knows,
She heard her beseeching voice in the haboob,
Or was it the cry of a lamb in the arid dunes,
God only knows.
Anita Bacha
Dear friends and readers, The Other Side of Paradise, is one of the poems that you will find in Part 2 of my poetry book INK, Echo of life and love (2019).
Hope you enjoy the before taste.
Happy reading
Anita Bacha
Your Name
Your name I’ve painted,
In henna on my palm;
As days and night spent,
Your name is a blessed psalm;
Your name I’ve tattooed,
In ink on my heart too;
Time and tide may pass,
Your name will forever last.
Anita Bacha
White Flowers in the Night
Take me with you,
To a land where white flowers,
Bloom in the night,
Where moths freely die in the light,
As I bloom and I die in your favors,
Take me with you,
Keep me close to you,
As the scent of white flowers,
Invigorates the breath of lovers,
And I write with the ink of your eyes,
These petals of poetry,
Chaste as white flowers in the night.
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
Rains
Monsoon season rains
Flooding rivers millet fields –
Lovers soak in love
Anita Bacha
Picture: tumblr.com
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
Le Visiteur
Assis sur une chaise haute,
Grand,beau et silencieux,
Il tirait sur sa derniere cigarette:
La pandémie battait son plein,
Il est arrivé tôt ce matin-là,
Il posa sur la table un sac des ravitaillements ;
Assis sur une chaise haute,
Grand, beau et silencieux,
Il tirait sur sa dernière cigarette ;
Petite,
Elle atteignait la hauteur de son front ;
Le contour délicat de ses yeux,
Une minuscule fossette dans le menton
Et, ses narines sensuelles la captivaient ;
Elle chassa amèrement
L’envie folle de serrer la tête de l’homme,
Contre son sein ,
De couvrir son visage basané des baisers ;
Elle aussi avait fait la guerre,
Mais la guerre de la vie ;
Langoureuse,
Elle chercha longtemps dans son regard,
Un signe,
Une suspicion d’amour,
Rien, un vide,
Autrefois, il a connu l’amour,
L’amour qui trahit et qui fait mal,
L’amour qui tue,
Et il mourrait doucement ;
Elle mourrait aussi à force de l’aimer,
Incapable de déclarer son amour
A un homme sans âme.
Anita Bacha
Anita Bacha 