Tag: Poetry

Happy Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day!
Sharing a poem dedicated to my mother who left this world at the age of 42 after a long illness of innumerable years.


THE APPLE OF MY EYE

She was walking on the beach
A long skirt hiding her knees
Dotted with tiny blue florets
A white linen blouse flattened her bosom
Prude,
She never wore a bathing suit

Immaculate as the sunset
Pretty as a picture
Mysterious as the sea
Smiling to herself
Poetic, in love, sweet,
A dreamer
She fell in love only once
People said
The blessed day was her wedding day

A long trail of foot steps
She left
Printed in the moist sand
In joyous innocence
Behind her I walked
Placing my steps
One by one in her wake
She was the apple of my eye!
She was my mother!
Anita Bacha

Excerpt from my poetry book SOUL POETRY

The Sea

Listen to the lament of the forlorn sea,
She is calling your name!
Listen to the rhythm of her beating waves,
She is calling your name!
Listen to the sea,
Listen to her beseeching vow,
She is missing you!
She misses your body,
Floating frivolously like seaweed,
Dancing and curving her waves,
She misses your smell,
Deliciously and fondly fading with hers,
She wants to tenderly hold you,
And, never let you go,
Engulf you in the nudity of her waves,
Deep into the profundity of her bewitching charm,
Rocking you once again in her arms

Santa Paula, Goa January 2020

Anita Bacha

I Promise You

My love, I promise you my ink,

My heart bleeds of words I think,

Of impossible love and pain,

My tears flow incessantly as rain,

Eroded a painting of sea and sand,

Dreams of escape to a green island;

My love, I promise you my ink,

As long as my breath doesn’t sink,

Blood flows in my veins,

A song in my memory remains.

Anita Bacha

Photo credit @anitabacha

The Butterfly 🦋

THE BUTTERFLY
I sit by my window,
I behold a magic butterfly!
A rainbow butterfly!
Gorgeous hues of red, blue, indigo,
Orange, green, heavenly mauve,
Immaculate yellow,
Fluttering loftily,
Flying stealthily,
Flirting with sweet flowers so lovely!
A discreet kiss on the lips of the white pansy,
A soft caress on the dahlia’s cheek,
A gentle stroke on the red nose of the poppy!
Hibiscus, violets,
Budding marigolds,
Chuckle and open their folds,
Engrossed by the magic butterfly!
A fragrant red rose,
Spreads her velvety petals,
Lingers and whimpers!
In the wilderness, disappears the magic butterfly!

Anita Bacha

RESTONS À LA MAISON 🏡

Soudainement, sans avertissement,

Notre beau pays, Ile Maurice, est pris d’assaut,

Un ennemi mortel paraît, on n’est sait d’où,

Il s’attaque à nous,

Il est minuscule mais malin,

Il s’appelle Corona, il est là,

Invisible mais invincible,

Il ne choisit pas, voyons,

Noir, blanc, jaune, marron,

Homme, femme, jeune ou vieux,

Riche, pauvre, vaillant, peureux,

Il s’attaque à tous,

Confinement solitaire,

Couvre-feu sanitaire,

À la maison, pour se taire,

Un peuple uni sortira vainqueur.

Anita Bacha

SPRING IS HERE


With a magic splash of fresh paints,
Trees and plants
Grim and dark,
With a spark
Into emerald green, are changed,
Donned is the sky in glistening blue,
Splendid and meek, the golden sun
Flirts jauntily,
Budding flowers kissing delicately
Coaxing beauty in the fun;
As spring plays with colors,
With the melodious songs of birds,
With the waltz of cheery butterflies,
With the noble heart of man,
New hopes, like fresh petals unbolt,
Blossoming gaily in the garden of life.

Anita Bacha

My Sweet Lord


The grains of sand tickle my feet,
I close my eyes,
Is it you, my sweet Lord,
Filling my soul with vibes divine?
The sea amorously laps my toes,
I close my eyes,
Is it you, my sweet Lord,
Sending cosmic waves down my spine?
As I stroll down the shore
‘I have caressed His Feet! ‘whispers the sand;
‘I have kissed His toes!’ murmurs the sea,
You walk with me, my sweet Lord!Anita Bacha

A SAPLING

In her garden
Grandma planted a seed
She fenced around the earth
Water it before the sun is high

In her garden,

Grandma planted a seed,

She fenced around the earth,

Water it before the sun is high;

With her tender keep,

The seed grew into a sapling;

In the middle of the field,

Mom moved the sapling,

Fenced around the earth,

Water it before the sun is high;

With her tender keep,

The sapling grew into a tree;

In our field, there is a tree,

Giving us shade when the sun is high,

And, a thirst-quenching fruit with a seed,

That will grow into a sapling,

If like grandma and mom, we heed.

 Anita Bacha

Photo credit : Anita Bacha

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.