NOSTALGIA

Anita Bacha

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

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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

Words

Words,

Precious psychic words,

Fly me to my love!

Words,

Iridescent,

Powerful, mighty eagles,

Fly me to my love!

Up and above,

Valleys and mountain tops,

Oceans and lands,

Fly me to my love!

Touch him,

Kiss him,

Fondle him,

Squeeze him!

Words,

Awesome,

Divine words,

Fly me to my love!

Pierce his heart,

Conquer his soul,

Possess him,

Enchant him,

Make him my own!

Words,

Infinite,

Invisible atoms of my soul,

Fly me to my love!

Words,

Resounding,

Screeching,

Ejaculating in joyous delight,

Fly me to my love!

Anita Bacha©

Excerpt from my book ‘SOUL POETRY-INSPIRATIONAL POEMS, VERSES & QUOTES

 

 

 

The Night of Shiva in Mauritius

 

In spiritual life, each aspirant seeks and appeases his spiritual hunger according to his belief, taste or talent. 

Grand Bassin, dotingly called ‘Ganga Talao’, is a Crater Lake situate in a secluded mountain area in the South of Mauritius. Nestled deep in the core recess of the heart of the island, Grand Bassin is recognized as a sacred lake and a replica of the Holy Ganges by the Hindu populace.  Every year, thousands of pilgrims from the four corners of the island converge to its precincts; they collect the sacred water of the lake, to offer to Lord Shiva, on the occasion of Maha Shivratree or ‘The Night of Shiva’. This year, the Night of Shiva is celebrated on 24 February. Zealous pilgrims from the north, the east and the west have started to trek to the south since Friday last, blessed by the intermittent drizzles of the rainy season.

 

ODE TO SHIVA

 

Graceful, gorgeous white skinned Lord!

You wear the moon on your head,

You are the elixir of life,

Remover of pain and suffering;

 

Immutable, powerful three-eyed Lord!

You are the embodiment of light,

Bestower of joy and ecstasy,

Destroyer of darkness and ignorance;

 

My song is a prayer to you,

My dance is worship to you,

My body is your temple,

My soul belongs to you!

Anita Bacha

Illustration/Photography/ Anita Bacha

Illustration Video/ Courtesy of Flying Freaks Aerial Cinematography

 

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The Forbidden Fruit

Anita Bacha

I spent a great deal of my childhood days, at the place of my grandmother and in the company of my elder sister, Romila. My sister was a plump, docile and very girlish child. She was my buddy when my best chum, my brother, Jan, was not around.

My grandmother, Nani, was a rich widow. She lived in a big wooden and shingle roofed house in the City of Curepipe. Nani’s house was nestled in the heart of a large property covered with exotic fruit trees.

A tomboy, a relentless adventurer and explorer, I loved to climb trees and hide in their leaves, playing at imaginative games. I was simply and purely fascinated by trees.

I was particularly impressed by a majestic Bell Fruit tree (also called Jamalac or Jeanbosse tree in Mauritius or Jamrul tree in India) that stood in the midst of the vast terrain. It was always…

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The Forbidden Fruit

I spent a great deal of my childhood days, at the place of my grandmother and in the company of my elder sister, Romila. My sister was a plump, docile and very girlish child. She was my buddy when my best chum, my brother, Jan, was not around.

My grandmother, Nani, was a rich widow. She lived in a big wooden and shingle roofed house in the City of Curepipe. Nani’s house was nestled in the heart of a large property covered with exotic fruit trees.

A tomboy, a relentless adventurer and explorer, I loved to climb trees and hide in their leaves, playing at imaginative games. I was simply and purely fascinated by trees.

I was particularly impressed by a majestic Bell Fruit tree (also called Jamalac or Jeanbosse tree in Mauritius or Jamrul tree in India) that stood in the midst of the vast terrain. It was always laden with big, juicy and tantalizing Jamalacs. The fruits were milky white in colour whereas other fruits of the same family were comparatively smaller and either pink or red. Unfortunately, we, children were not allowed to go near this tree and were strictly forbidden from eating the milky white fruits.

‘It is possessed by a spirit’ Nani told us.

‘Leave this tree and its fruits alone!’ She severely cautioned us.

However, one fateful day when Nani was absent from home, I made up my mind to climb the Bell fruit tree and to taste the forbidden fruit. Romila was playing quietly with her dolls, in a corner of the room which we shared with our grandmother. I summoned her and asked her to join me. At first she refused and reminded me of the spirit. I insisted with dominant persuasion. She finally gave in and meekly followed me. She revered me as a leader in audacious games and dreadful adventures.

We slipped out of the house noiselessly and headed for the coveted tree. Once in close proximity, I could not help feeling an eerie atmosphere around the tree. It made my heart pound with excitement, mischievous delight and awe. Ripe, luscious jamalacs were hanging from the over laded branches. Even more so, the fruits were practically sweeping the ground that was covered with dry leaves. I looked up and my eyes caught sight of a beautiful, shiny jamalac at the top of the tree.

In no time, I frayed my way through the tangled branches and started to climb the tree with astounding agility, like a monkey. Romila yelled out at me to stop and to come back. I did not pay heed to her. My mind was set on reaching for the forbidden fruit.

I arrived at the top in a flash and, I hurriedly reached out for the fruit. All of a sudden, a branch of the tree hit me violently like a big slap in the face. I shut my eyes. Behind my closed eye lids, I saw the sun and the blue sky in an aperture between the rich green leaves.

The next thing, I knew, was that I was lying in bed, surrounded by my parents and other family members. My mother was sobbing.

To cut a long story short, Romila ran for rescue when I fell from the tree, like a bag of potatoes. I was carried unconscious to Nani’s house. When later she arrived, she phoned my mom and dad. Most importantly, she called for a local healer cum psychic, a ‘hoja’. He brought me out of what he ably qualified as a ‘trance’. I had fallen from a height of 15 feet unscathed. I had no bruise, no injury and no broken bone.

One of the worst rabble-rousers in the family, I had become a ‘miracle child’ thanks to the forbidden fruit!

Anita Bacha

In the illustration picture is my granddaughter. She has taken after me in tree- climbing.

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