Mon bien-aimé

Mon bien-aimé en orange vif,Moi, l’épouse vêtue d’un feuillage vert,

Chantant et dansant gaiement,

Dans le vent doux tourbillonnant.
Lorsque nos yeux se rencontrèrent tendrement,

Je frémis d’extase,

 Mes paupières tombèrent doucement

Et le divin trésor, je gardai tendrement.
Il purifia mon âme tremblante,

Sous une pluie de larmes diluvienne,

Il couvrit mon corps nu, d’une avalanche de fleurs délicates;
Révélée à ma propre réalité,

Nous étions un, connectés, pour l’éternité.

– Anita Bacha-
🍁🍂☘🌺🍀🍁🍃☘🍃🌺🍂🍃☘🍁🍀🌺✨🍃🌺🍀🍂
Above is the French version of my English poem ‘Lord of Brindavan’
Read more 

http://poetryofanitabacha.com/

Illustration/Photography /Anita Bacha

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AUTUMN

The fall comes in my garden as a sorceress

The sky covering the morning sun with a thick dimness

Broom sweeps, leaves and flowers fly off in a maelstrom

 Cold downpours freeze the subterranean thunderstorm

Birds flee up in the skies with a scream

Trout hide under the stones of the stream

I look full of hope, my love, at the radiance in the horizon

No matter the rain, the cold, the melancholy of the autumn season

Whatever the absence, the long days of waiting, the starless nights

Whatever the tears, the suffering and the frights

I wait, mad lover that I am, for your return in spring

Linger for the promised kisses, the delirious frolics in the field   

I dream of the elating scent of the rose on your tanned skin

I dream of poppies crushing on your mouth my stolen longing

Anita Bacha

Illustration/Photography Anita Bacha

 

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