Poems,prompts and stories to unwind
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
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 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
Behold the first turn of the autumn leaf 🍁
From green ☘️to amber light,
From yellow to rusty veins;
Behold the game of life,
Like the autumn leaf 🍂
We have lived,
Knowing life is a gift 💝 of God,
Gracefully, we detach,
We take our leave,
Make way for new leaves 🍀🌿🍃🍀
Anita Bacha
Illustrative/Photography/Anita Bacha/Frankfurt/Germany
Your lips have not touched mine,
Your searing eyes mime,
What your heart cannot hold;
Should I seal with a kiss 😘
Receive your love or dismiss,
What my heart ❤️ cannot hold.
Anita Bacha
Photo credit: Ocean Vibrations
You open to me in the heat of the sun,
Your purple color runs in my veins,
Your beauty is a divine perfume,
My life is imbued with your quintessence;
Once you teach me how to dance,
We twirl and we swirl in the wind,
A joyous song in our heart,
Heedless of the hammering rain;
Secretly in the chill of dusk,
You fold your dying petals,
Enclosing me in the depth of your soul.
Anita Bacha
Photo credit: Raj Swami
