My Rose

My Rose

I watch you in my garden early morning,

Your petals wide open, yawning;

I tenderly hug you to sip the dew of your lips,

Forgetful of the green prickly tips,

Under your enticing scarlet folds;

A dew of blood on my finger unfolds,

My rose,

Feverishly I blot with my lips

The dew of your lips,

Dew as sweet as lovers’ first kiss.

Anita Bacha

YOUR TOUCH

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Listen

 

 Listen to the tears of a woman

Listen to the scent of roses

Her tears gently caress the roses

They are the last blooms of this summer

She is the last rose of this summer

Listen to the wind blowing

Listen to the rustle of leaves

Her hair sings wooing with the leaves

They are the last leaves of this summer

 She is the last leaf of this summer

 Listen to the beat of your selfish heart

Listen to your tears

They slip madly on the body of a woman

They are the last tears that you shed this summer

She is the last woman you’ll ever love

Listen to the rain

Listen to the drops that water the plain

They wash immaculately the dust of summer

It is the dust of last summer

Listen to the man you’ve become

Listen to your soul

So you will know the true meaning of love

Anita Bacha

A RED ROSE

FullSizeRender (10)My parched lips touch the crypt furtively

The biting of the white marble

Down my spine runs shudders weirdly

My eyelids flutter in bewildered rapture

Drops of tear fall down my cheeks

Merging in the dew of a red rose hungrily

A red rose on your tomb lying silently

With trembling hands I cup the red rose

On my heart I press firmly

A token of your love,

A vestige of the unforgettable past;

The verses of my poetry

Where do they come from?

The rhythm of my song

Where does it stem from?

The fragrance of the red rose

Where does it spring from?

The words speak of your love

The rhythm speaks of your love

The red rose speaks of your love;

Of your warmth, your tenderness

Your immaculate beauty

They have woven precious history

Is this the end of our story untold?

Or the beginning of a new romance,

An eternal saga of two souls?

 

– Anita Bacha – Puttaparthi- India- 18 March 2012

A RED ROSE

South Indian Rose

South Indian Rose Picture/Illustration/Source/Internet

                   

My parched lips touch the crypt furtively

The biting of the white marble

Down my spine runs shudders weirdly

My eyelids flutter in bewildered rapture

Drops of tear fall down my cheeks

Merging in the dew of a red rose hungrily;

A red rose on your tomb laying silently

With trembling hands I cup the red rose

On my heart I press firmly

A token of your love,

A vestige of the unforgettable past;

The words of my poetry

Where do they come from?

The rhythm of my song

Where does it stem from?

The fragrance of the red rose

Where does it spring from?

The words speak of your love

The rhythm speaks of your love

The red rose speaks of your love

Of your warmth, your tenderness

Your immaculate beauty

They have woven precious history

Is this the end of our story untold?

Or the beginning of a new romance,

An eternal saga of two souls?

Anita Bacha