The Sea

 

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 You growled loudly;

Your hoarse voice I heard clearly;

My steps I hastened towards you;

Halted on the sand still warm,

Out of breath,

The sea, I‘ve been watching you!

Mysterious, a woman you resembled;

In the darkness,

A few stars had assembled,

I imagined your gorgeous beauty,

Gauged your ferocious mighty;

A strong smell I breathed in,

Tears, I guessed, had turned your water salty;

Sated, I turned around,

Ran away to hide,

Returned to my bed to cry;

 

Dawn came, birds chirped noisily;

Awoken, I listened to your silence;

Walked back to watch you, the sea,

Basking in tender quietness;

Behind you, the glorious sun had risen;

Your hair flowing, angry and rippled

In a gentle caress was softened

Hugged like a fond lover

Kissed over and over,

Lulled you were in his delicious warmth;

Conquered by his irresistible charm,

Tranquil, you had fallen into his arms;

Hushed, you were the sea,

A lost love you had found

Anita Bacha

(Pereybere- Mauritius 2013)

The Sea

 

 

 

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Poetry – A Leaf of Your Tree

Poetry of Anita Bacha

Of your tree so mighty

I am a leaf so green and tiny

Neither an apple nor a fig

I hold on to a twig

In winter I shiver and I freeze

In summer I sway in the breeze

Drenched in torrential rain

I cry in grief and pain

Scalded in the burning sun

I shrivel and I shun

A creeper I long to mime

My arms enlacing you

Heavenly heights to climb

My soul enrobing you

– Anita Bacha –

Thought for the Day

 

 God is allowing mankind to destroy the earth. Only when mankind is brought down on his knees, will he turn towards God (Sai Baba) – Isaac Tigrett Dallas Discourse 2009

Anita Bacha

Reflections

 

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, Romi.  My sister was a plump, docile and very girlish child. She was my best friend when 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 the trees, play at imaginative games, and hide in their leaves. I was simply and purely fascinated by trees.

I was particularly impressed by a majestic Bell Fruit tree (also called Zamalac or Zeanbosse 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 zeanbosses. The fruits were white in color whereas other fruits of the same family were comparatively smaller and either pink or red. Unfortunately, children were not allowed to go near this tree and were strictly forbidden from eating the white zeanbosses.

‘It was 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 zeanbosse tree and to taste the forbidden fruit. Romi was playing quietly with her dolls in a corner. I summoned her and asked her to join me. At first she refused and reminded me of the spirit. Then she 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 zeanbosses were hanging from the over laden branches. Even more so, the fruits were practically sweeping the ground covered with dry leaves. I looked up and my eyes caught sight of a beautiful, shiny zeanbosse 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. Romi yelled out at me to stop and to come back. I did not pay heed to her. My mind was set at reaching for the forbidden fruit.

When I reached the top, I hurriedly reached out for the fruit. When 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 eyelids, 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, Romi 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 called for a local healer cum psychic, a ‘hoja’. He brought me out of what he professionally 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-rouser in the family, I had become a ‘miracle child’ thanks to the forbidden fruit!

Anita Bacha

Few Lines for You

 

 In silence I probe my heart

 To write some lines for you

 ‘Ask the meadow!’  Says my heart

 ’Ask the flower!’ Says the meadow

 ‘Ask the lake!’ Says the flower

 

Lulled by quiet inspiration

 These lines I write for you

 

Afloat on a lake of heavenly bliss

 In the meadow of my heart

On a bed of scented flowers

Your memory lingers

 As profound as the still waters

As vast as the meadow

As nostalgic as the perfume of wild blooms

 

If I were to forget you

I would forget the meadow, the flower, the lake

I would forget my poetry

Anita Bacha

The Apple of My Eye

She was walking on the beach

A long skirt hiding her knees

Dotted with tiny blue florets

A white linen blouse flattened her bosom

Prude,

She never wore a bathing suit

 

Immaculate as the sunset

Pretty as a picture

Mysterious as the sea

Smiling to herself

Poetic, in love, sweet,

A dreamer

She fell in love only once

People said

The blessed day was her wedding day

 

A long trail of foot steps

 She left

Printed in the moist sand

In joyous innocence

Behind her I walked

Placing my steps

 One by one in her wake

She was the apple of my eye!

She was my mother!

Anita Bacha