The one who steals the rose in your garden,
Also steals the thorns.
Anita Bacha.

The one who steals the rose in your garden,
Also steals the thorns.
Anita Bacha.

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.

Behold the first turn of the autumn leaf π
From green βοΈto amber light,
From yellow to rusty veins;
Behold the game of life,
Like the autumn leaf π
We have lived,
Knowing life is a gift π of God,
Gracefully, we detach,
We take our leave,
Make way for new leaves ππΏππ
Anita Bacha.
Illustrative/Photography/Anita Bacha/Frankfurt/Germany
The moon shines because it does not escape the night;
The rose πΉ is scented because it has embraced the thorn.
Illustration/Photo/Anita Bacha/Great Wall Mutianyu/China
