A first bloom,

A first flower,
In a barren garden,
A God sent boon;
She stoops,
Stretches a shaky hand;
A miracle has fallen,
In a lonely garden;
A fragile blossom,
She clutches to her bosom,
Forgetting the dark memories,
The cold lonely days;
A blossom of sun rays,
At last,
To warm her waning age
Anita Bacha




India my land of predilection

You enthrall my soul

A miracle, a benediction

Secret love lived and untold

Memories garnish my aging heart

As I stand on death’s threshold

A spiritual guru who guided my script art

A man who inspired the pen I hold

Land of saints, gods and statues

Disparity, fun, marvel and the unexplained

I carved an image of human values

On the whore, the poor and the betrayed

In my exquisite five stars’ hotel room

I lit an incense stick and I meditate

My life has been an exploration of the gloom

That shrouds the ignorant and the illiterate

My experience of books

Of novels and poems celebrating love

Leaves me insatiate and bleaks my looks

In pages only I find the meaning of ‘love’

Anita Bacha©











I am waiting for your letter, my friend

For me, this is not the end

I did not want to let you go

But people say you are a gigolo

Scorned, ridiculized your only true friend

I will wait for your letter till the end

Morning come, I open my letter box

I see, sleeping, a little fox

He opens an eye, yawns lazily

No letter for me, my buddy

I walk up and down the road

Never getting bored

An eye I keep on the postman

I am waiting for your letter, my friend

 As luck would have it I smile at passers-by

Deep within I want to yell and cry

Remember our laughs and cries

To-day the same emotions arise

You have been exceptionally kind

To an old woman but never mind

One day you will remember, my friend

Sitting by her bedside, holding her hand

I am waiting for your letter, my friend

 Jot down a few words with your writer’s pen

Here, in Crouch End, I watch the autumn leaves all alone

No laptop, no Skype, no phone

I am waiting for your letter, my friend

I will wait for your letter till the end…

Anita Bacha©

Processed with MOLDIV

Processed with MOLDIV