Anita Bacha

The sky is turning red and orange,

Time for the sun to set,

For the moon to rise,

The sea yawns, ready to sleep;

We sit on the beach,

My head leaning on your shoulder;

You read to me your last poem,

‘We will meet again!

I will write our love story again!’

Night creeps in,behold!

I cup your face in my hands,

Your lips are cold;

You turn into a handful of sand,

The last poem ends.

Anita Bacha


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Prête-moi ta plume

Anita Bacha

Prête-moi ta plume pour écrire une poésie
Ma plume n’a plus d’encre
Les mots d’amour s’effritent sur un parchemin éraflé
Prête-moi ton cœur de poète passionné
Mon cœur a perdu son innocence
Les amours ont laisse un parcours des heurts inconsolés
Prête-moi tes yeux pour voir un monde inédit
Mes yeux voient un grand étendu d’argile gris
La vie ne m’a pas épargné le supplice
Prête-moi tes larmes pour effacer les blessures
Mes larmes sont gelées sous des paupières bouffisses
J’ai respirée l’amour et Les déchirements de cœur
Prête- moi tes bras le soir pour m’assoupir
Mes bras sont las de lutter
Le sommeil n’est pour moi qu’un lointain souvenir
Anita Bacha


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Anita Bacha

rendez-vous Photo Source Internet

Ce soir j’ai un rendez-vous avec l’amour

Ce soir laisses-moi t’aimer

Laisses-moi te remplir de mes émotions

Laisses-moi te couvrir de mes baisers

Ce soir j’ai un rendez-vous avec l’amour

Ce soir laisses-moi t’emporter

Laisses-moi te donner ma destinée

Laisses-moi  te fondre dans mon âme

Ce soir j’ai un rendez-vous avec l’amour

Ce soir laisses-moi  te  définir

Laisses-moi te poser sur la feuille de l’indéfini

Laisses-moi te conjuguer à la  plus belle poésie

Anita Bacha


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Anita Bacha

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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Short Story ‘Harry and Krishna’

Anita Bacha

Once there was a little boy who lived with his poor, widowed mother in a far away village.

His name was Harry. During school holidays he had no friend with whom to play. His mother was a loving woman and played with him when she was not busy with her household chores. One day, however, she fell ill and Harry became very lonely. His mother consoled him and told him to go out and play with Krishna.

‘Who is Krishna?’ Harry asked his mother.

‘Krishna is the friend of all!’

Harry rushed out eagerly calling ‘Krishna! Krishna!’

‘Hello!’ said a cow herd boy coming from behind a tree ‘why are you calling my name?’

“Let’s play!’ Harry uttered with joy.

They played together during the school holidays.

Back to school, Harry told the school master about his new friend, Krishna. The school master listened to his story but did not…

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Anita Bacha

Pressed against his body,

His breath smouldering her neck,

She felt his flower growing,




Then melting like sweet honey,

Wetting her wedding sari,

Leaving a broad stain,

And a sweet smell;

Souvenir of a first caress

In a hotel elevator .

Anita Bacha

Writer’s note: The honeysuckle is a sweet smelling flower that grows in bush in many parts of the world. The pink honeysuckle that we find in Japan is the symbol of the bond of love between husband and wife. It also symbolizes devotion, fidelity and generosity.

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