Freedom is to be yourself 🌹
Freedom is to be yourself 🌹
With a magic splash of fresh paints,
Trees and plants,
Grim and dark,
With a spark,
Into emerald green, are changed,
Donned is the sky in glistening blue,
Splendid and meek, the golden sun,
Budding flowers kissing delicately,
Coaxing beauty in the fun;
As spring plays with colors,
With the melodious songs of birds,
With the waltz of cheery butterflies,
With the noble heart of man,
New hopes, like fresh petals unbolt,
Blossom gaily in the garden of life .
– Anita Bacha –
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!
Illustration/Photography/ Anita Bacha
Illustration Video/ Courtesy of Flying Freaks Aerial Cinematography
Sometimes leaves fall,
Sometimes leaves are dropped,
The leaves do not grow back,
The tree stands stripped,
But, if its roots and stem are strong,
New leaves will bud and blossom;
Sometimes loved ones sever the bond,
Sometimes people make them go,
The loved ones wane in oblivion,
We stay alive, bare;
But, if our heart and our urge are selfless,
New relations will emerge and bloom.
Under the showering rain,
Shaken by the swells of the gale,
A sweet, pastel pink begonia,
A petite, elusive begonia,
Beckons my heart in pain;
A flood of love carries me away,
Drifting me tenderly at bay.
He hurried down the hill, the playful butterfly,
Thirsting for his queen, the morning rose;
She turned her face, shunned the fickle lover,
Fluttered the butterfly closer,
Tenderly to woo the rose,
Beg for mercy,
To caress once more her silken blossom,
Languorously to cradle in her folds;
Aloof she stood in the rising sun, the rose;
In the vanity of her solitude,
Frigid, in the pervasive warmth that arose,
Naked, deceived and betrayed,
Indignant by the deep humiliation,
The Queen of flowers, the rose!
Her magnificent crimson petals, she had shed,
Her strong, splendid green leaves had fallen,
Her sharp, shielding thorns were gone,
Lost in the wilderness her alluring perfume;
One time the butterfly stroke her,
Forever he touched her soul!
Your name, I wrote in the sand,
The sand washed away;
Your name, I have forgotten;
Your smile haunts me still;
Your mouth too,
Small and pouting,
Sweet and sour, as a ripe Chinese shrub guava,
Red in craving;
Yeah, your eyes!
Secretive, mysterious, impossible to unveil,
Bury the covert affairs that you relished,
Enclosing forever your secret!
Love of one night!
Love of a summer holiday!
As the sand slides between my fingers,
Your silhouette slips away from me,
Disappears in the skyline,
Swept away by the waves,
which is killing me.