Waiting

My sleep has left with you;

Waiting on the isolated shore,

I am all alone drunk with remorse;

In the moonless night,

My thoughts, lost in the dark blue sea,

I dream of your nimble form,

Floating on the tranquil water;

I wait and I watch for the waves,

I wait for you to drown in my arms

Anita Bacha

Illustration/photography/anitabacha

moonless night

NOSTALGIA

O mystic traveler!

As a warm gentle waft,

You’re in thro’ the secret doors of my alcove;

Snuggled under the red satin quilt,

In gentle strokes you caressed

My thirsty body;

Whispering musical words,

In the naked voice of silence,

You stole my soul,

Left behind a sorrowful corpse.

Anita Bacha

Fistful of Sand IMG_7643

Sing a Song 

O! My foolish little bird!
Why are you perched on this desolate twig?
The leaves have yellowed and fallen,
The leaves have drifted away;
Your feathers as soft as pain,
Your silence drowns in rain;
O! My foolish little bird,
What love do you seek?

Anita Bacha


 
 
 
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SPRING FRISKIES

The fall forays my garden as a sorceress,

The sky covering the morning sun with 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;
 Pining for the promised kisses, the delirious frolics in the field,   
 I dream of the elating scent of the rose on your tanned skin,
 Of poppies, crushing on your mouth my stolen longing.
Anita Bacha

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LITTLE FLOWER IN A FURROW

 I was passing by,
One morning,
 A little flower in a furrow
 I saw, peeping at me;
Soft lavender color,
Tender and fragile,
 Flaunting four tiny petals,
A miniscule golden ball,
Her belly button;
Mesmerized, I watched,
Wondered,
Chuckled;
I wanted to touch her,
With my moistened lips,
Caress her glossy folds;
To-morrow!
I cried out and hurried my steps;
Following sunrise,
The furrow was barren,
My eyes wept for her;
In a puddle,
Pale, on her tummy,
 Lifeless and floppy,
The little flower
Floated in rain water;
 Queen for a day, memorable forever,
She won the heart of a joker.

Anita Bacha

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