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
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
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!
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.
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
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.
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.