Love is also fire

but a cool fire

Yet we have to burn in it 

because it also purifies

It burns only to purify 

Processed with MOLDIV

Processed with MOLDIV

The dross burns

leaving pure gold 

  • OSHO 




India my land of predilection

You enthrall my soul

A miracle, a benediction

Secret love lived and untold

Memories garnish my aging heart

As I stand on death’s threshold

A spiritual guru who guided my script art

A man who inspired the pen I hold

Land of saints, gods and statues

Disparity, fun, marvel and the unexplained

I carved an image of human values

On the whore, the poor and the betrayed

In my exquisite five stars’ hotel room

I lit an incense stick and I meditate

My life has been an exploration of the gloom

That shrouds the ignorant and the illiterate

My experience of books

Of novels and poems celebrating love

Leaves me insatiate and bleaks my looks

In pages only I find the meaning of ‘love’

Anita Bacha©











I am waiting for your letter, my friend

For me, this is not the end

I did not want to let you go

But people say you are a gigolo

Scorned, ridiculized your only true friend

I will wait for your letter till the end

Morning come, I open my letter box

I see, sleeping, a little fox

He opens an eye, yawns lazily

No letter for me, my buddy

I walk up and down the road

Never getting bored

An eye I keep on the postman

I am waiting for your letter, my friend

 As luck would have it I smile at passers-by

Deep within I want to yell and cry

Remember our laughs and cries

To-day the same emotions arise

You have been exceptionally kind

To an old woman but never mind

One day you will remember, my friend

Sitting by her bedside, holding her hand

I am waiting for your letter, my friend

 Jot down a few words with your writer’s pen

Here, in Crouch End, I watch the autumn leaves all alone

No laptop, no Skype, no phone

I am waiting for your letter, my friend

I will wait for your letter till the end…

Anita Bacha©

Processed with MOLDIV

Processed with MOLDIV




Of your tree so mighty

I am a leaf so green and tiny

Neither an apple nor a fig

I hold on to a twig

In winter I shiver and I freeze

In summer I sway in the breeze

Drenched in torrential rain

I cry in grief and pain

Scalded in the burning sun

I shrivel and I shun

A creeper I long to mime

My arms enlacing you

Heavenly heights to climb

My soul enrobing you

Anita Bacha

Illustration/Artist/Francis Apied



Drizzling Rain

Drizzling Rain Picture/Source/Internet



The fading colours of the rainbow

The autumn flowers in the meadow

An unfinished canvas

Remind me of an unsung melody

Of an impossible love story

A painful reminiscence of you

Your smile has this magic hue

Priding the colours of your youth

The beauty of colours so smooth

I learn to love the colour red

Red as the lining of the setting sun

Red as the petal of the first rose in spring

Red as the colour of your mouth chewing betel nut

I learn to love the colour brown

Brown as the soft mud in the wet alley of Mathura

Brown as the bark of the sandalwood tree

Brown as the colour of your skin under the monsoon rain

I learn to love the colour dark

Dark as the depth of the burning night

Dark as the shadow of the moon

Dark as the mystery of your pleading eyes

I throw the colours around and above

I let them go

The colours fall back with a sigh

Anita Bacha