Tag: Short Poems

Onset of Spring

Sunday lunch in a friendly bistro,
On the outskirts of Brussels;
A hanging smell of blubber,
Roast, mash and stew,
A man in an old over-coat,
Others in woollies and stoles,
Silently bent on their plates,
In their eyes, hope twinkles and smiles,
Shafts of sunlight
Break through closed windows,
Heralds the onset of spring;
Like man,
Nature too is keen on change.
A new coat, cheerful and light,
A scarf painted with colors, beautiful and bright.

Anita Bacha

Photo Credit: Anita Bacha.

I lived in Belgium for some time, more particularly,in Brussels for work and in Linkebeek with family and friends. I love the Belgian people both the French and the Flemish. I adore the food. I have left a piece of my heart in Belgium and I entertain the sincere wish of going back one day when the Spring breaks through.

  • Anita Bacha-

You Are

You walk in my life unaware,

Inviting my pen to play melodies,

Of indescribable beauty on strings,

My fingers throbbing with love;

Don’t walk away unaware,

Breaking the rhythm of my heart beats,

Striking your name on strings,

My fingers blemished in ink;

You are the dancing script,

The humming pen, the amorous words,

You are around me, within me,

You are the poem you whispered in my ear.

Anita Bacha.

I am Beauty

I open to the Rose,
And find myself,
Deep within perfumed folds of pink,
Drunk with beauty!
I open to the song of the bird,
To hear the music of my soul,
Singing free!
I open to the sky,
And find myself floating,
Soft and loving as a cloud!
I open to beauty and I open to myself,
I embrace beauty and know it as myself,
I let it in,
And let it shine.
-Anita Bacha-

Happy New Year 2020

One year has left,
Another has stepped in;
It all happened so suddenly,
In a blink of the eye;
Did I love you enough, my dear friend?
Did I say it often enough?
Time waits for none,
But love stands the test of time;
God has blessed me with this life
And,with you as my friend;
Trust in my love and friendship,
You are God’s gift to me,
You live in my heart,
I love you ❤️
I wish you plenty of everything that you desire in 2020
Happy New Year, my dear friend!

Anita Bacha

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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