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

Invigorate 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.

Photo credit:Raj Swami.

Your Voice

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

Save My Ego

Prattling of raindrops on the roof,

Rivaling beats of drums aloof,

Senseless stares in an empty space,

Trying hard to read your face,

No regret,no remorse,no shame,

For you it was just a game;

Breathless when I say goodbye,

Hiding from you my hurt,my cry,

She has come back, I cannot stay,

Love triangles are doomed anyway;

Babbling of voices in my head,

Competing with singings of the dead,

I hold my heart, I have to let you go,

Broken,I have nothing left save my ego.

Anita Bacha

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A Flower in My Hair

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

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The Night Train of Nagaur

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

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How to tell you

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

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