ON THE QUAY OF FAREWELL

On the quay of farewell,

In a covetous embrace

You gave me your heart;

On the quay of farewell,

You wiped my tears with your lips,

You offered me your eyes;

On the quay of farewell,

You spoke to me about your suffering,

You wanted my mouth to feel your fading breath;

On the quay of farewell,

You wanted me to remember your desires,

Your thirst and your hunger in-satiate;

On the quay of farewell,

You fumbled for the tenderness and sweetness that are in me,

That you will never find in another;

On the quay of farewell,

You hugged me tight in your arms,

You wanted to keep me forever;

On the quay of farewell,

Heavy as a winter coat,

The separation bent you into two

And,

You shouted my name ‘Ani!’

Anita Bacha

http://poetryofanitabacha.com/

 

IMG_7464.JPG

ROASTED CHESTNUTS

The woody scent of roasting chestnuts fills my whole being again, after decades and so far away from Europe; I am at One Utama shopping mall in Kuala Lumpur; memories of my student days flashed in front of my open eyes like a collage of eventful occurrences.

It was my first winter in London.

In those times,the days were extremely short and dark.Snow piled up in heaps on both sides of the roads as my friend,Baba, and I struggled to pave our way to Holborn tube station.
Curbed into two,shivering under my winter coat, a whiff of browning nuts made me jerk. I turned to my friend and asked –
” What’s the scent?’
“Roasting chestnuts” he replied, as he gestured with his chin at a black silhouette in the corner of the street.
I could vaguely make out,in the distance,a man or a woman, shabbily dressed, occupied in front of a stove of burning charcoals.A light smoke raised as a cloudy mist around the stove, danced playfully in the icy air.
We crossed the road.
The alluring scent of roasted chestnuts swelled my nostrils.
Baba bought a small paper bag of piping hot chestnuts and ceremoniously offered it to me.
I tasted the first roasted chestnut of my life and I spontaneously became fond of this soft and delightful delicacy.

Baba took up a job at Knightsbridge for end of term and Christmas vacation.
Among other lovely Christmas gifts, which he offered to me,I found a luxuriously wrapped box of ‘marrons glacés’ from Harrods.

After our law studies, we parted. We did not keep in touch but I still love chestnuts,roasted,candied or steamed.

It’s amazing how the sound of music or the whiff of a scent can bring to our mind souvenirs of cherished instances that we carry inside us and which,possibly none of us actually knows is there.

Anita Bacha

INK

Inspired by Manache Poetry’s Next Awakening, I have written the second and last half of this poem.

The first half was complete but followed a systematic writer’s ( or lover’s) block. One sentence “do not let go of my hand” was all I needed to dip the nib of my pen in the ink pot of the vast ocean of  Love and write…

INK

In chaos, my world collapses,

My pen drops,

A wound on my ring finger,

Betrayed …

By my sister,

An ironic wasteland is my heart,

Dumped …

Love loses its eulogy,

Fragmented…

In a puzzle chemistry,

Poets run out of verses

Tumbled…

Face down in infamy;

Suddenly,

Loose petals of words,

Fall in cascades,

Cover my lifeless body,

Awakened…

From the torpor

Of self imposed penalty,

Wet…

Under the mosquito net,

Stained…

My bed linen,

With ink from your pen !

Anita Bacha

IMG_7463.JPG

FRANKFURTER BUCHMESSE

Par excellence, a major travel destination
Frankfurt entices the biggest books celebration
The content literary oriented will find displayed
Poetry, classical, horror on shelves neatly arranged
My flight on British Airways was booked
A voracious book worm was hooked
I have to make it to Frankfurt Buchmesse
I hazily jump out of bed, rush…rush
The alarm of my Smartphone rings too late
I am in the kitchen sipping hot chocolate
Half asleep in my pyjamas on the toilet seat
I compose and send an illustrated tweet
 Shampoo and body wash under the hot shower
Up the stairs I climb to switch off the timer
So many little but significant things to remember
When leaving home deserted mid October
A brand new fine linen voile white shirt
A stylish pleated black cotton skirt
 Colourful leg warmers and thermal socks
Ouch! The thermal pants pinch the buttocks
I have radiant energetic youthful looks
I am totally and absolutely in love with books
Trendy in knee high leather boots
Matching jacket and a satchel of books
I drive with confidence to Heathrow, Terminal five
My mind set in catching the early morning flight
Anita