Poems,prompts and stories to unwind
The magic of your voice,
Irretrievably touches my soul,
Lifts our passion to zeniths untold.
The magic of your voice,
When I hear on the phone,
Fills my searing eyes with tears,
Drives away all my agony and fears;
Whatever the cruel distance,
However excruciating the absence,
The magic of your voice,
When I hear on the phone,
Brings a smile of hope on my face,
In my life,fullness and solace;
The magic of your voice,
When I hear on the phone,
Irretrievably touches my soul,
Lifts our passion to zeniths untold.
Anita Bacha
Today I wear a fresh flower in my hair,
My sweet sweetheart is here,
For the city, he left me asunder,
How I lived without him, I wonder;
Red florets I wore on our wedding night,
The gems he put in my hair under the moonlight,
Are the pressed blooms under my pillow,
How I slept without him, do you know?
Anita Bacha
Photo credit: Rajesh Swami
The flower doesn’t dream of the 🐝
It blossoms and the 🐝 comes
– Rumi
Quote of Rumi
Photo credit: Anita Bacha
These pictures were clicked by me last July at Borehamwood in England.
The A1 shooting group in Borehamwood is a family-run clay target shooting facility offering English Sporting, Olympic Trap and Helice.
Every summer, I visit the shooting ground with my family for the pleasure of holding a shotgun, and to enjoy a walk in the countryside.
I was happily surprised to find bumblebees in a bush on a sidewalk.
I stopped with my IPhone and caught some beautiful pictures of bumblebees romancing with flowers, undisturbed by the deafening sound of shooting. They were peaceful and happy, totally ignorant of the world around them.
The flowers, I observed, were not budding, new blooms or half blooms or full blossoms for that matter but withering flowers, some had lost their petals and others were dying.
Yet, see the magic of Nature, bumblebees were swarming around them, thirsting for their nectar.
Probably Nature wants to teach us a lesson, I thought, about women.
A woman, like a flower, never aged.
How to tell you,
What is more painful than a blast in the ear,
More painful than a suppressed tear,
More painful than the whistle of a train,I hear;
How to tell you,
Nothing is more painful than your leave,
Feigning that without you I can live;
How to tell you,
What is a beloved without the lover,
Or a lover without the beloved,
Or me without you, or you without me;
How to tell you,
What is the sky without a moon,
Or a moon without the sky,
Or me without you, or you without me.
Anita Bacha
Photo credit -Rajesh Swami
How to tell you,
What is sweeter than a drop of honey,
Sweeter than a grain of sugar,
Sweeter than the juice of a strawberry;
How to tell you,
Nothing is sweeter than your tongue,
Melting like ice in my mouth;
How to tell you,
What is a flower without a bumble bee,
Or a bumble bee without a flower,
Or me without you, or you without me.
Anita Bacha
Photo credit: Anita Bacha
I close my eyes and I smile,
I think of my teddy by my side,
How chummy can we be,
Under the shower,
When we lather up each other playfully,
And,slurp the water running down our body;
On the bed,
When we touch every part of each other,
And,discover the joy of connubial intimacy;
Every thought of you,
The vegetable biryani we share,
The ride in the auto in the busy fair,
The transience of our meeting,
When you come home from the city,
The farewell,
When you leave to catch the night train,
The helpless look in your beautiful eyes,
A selfie, a promise to remain truthful,
No matter what, the lure,the pull;
My sweet hubby,
As I sit down to milk the cow in the shed,
I recall I am your Chocolaty milkmaid,
The girl from a faraway village,
In your book of fairies, a page;
Illiterate, I don’t know the word ‘Valentine ‘,
All I know, I am yours and you are mine.
Anita Bacha
Photo credit :Anita Bacha
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
