LOST 

Lost in hopelessness before we met,

Lost we found each other on the net,
Lost we were in blank togetherness,
Lost in nothingness,
Lost you wander away,
Lost you betray,
Lost I let go of you in sadness,
Lost I snub to take you back in forgiveness;
Lost without each other,
Lost we are forever.

Anita Bacha
Illustration/photography/Anita Bacha 

http://poetryofanitabacha.com/

 
 
 

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

LITTLE FLOWER IN A FURROW

 I was passing by,
One morning,
 A little flower in a furrow
 I saw, peeping at me;
Soft lavender color,
Tender and fragile,
 Flaunting four tiny petals,
A miniscule golden ball,
Her belly button;
Mesmerized, I watched,
Wondered,
Chuckled;
I wanted to touch her,
With my moistened lips,
Caress her glossy folds;
To-morrow!
I cried out and hurried my steps;
Following sunrise,
The furrow was barren,
My eyes wept for her;
In a puddle,
Pale, on her tummy,
 Lifeless and floppy,
The little flower
Floated in rain water;
 Queen for a day, memorable forever,
She won the heart of a joker.

Anita Bacha

https://m.facebook.com/Ani.Bacha/

 

London 

The sun breaks through the clouds,

Dressed in a robe of yellow sprouts,
The time has changed to summer,
The temperature chills of winter;
Eyes burning with sleep at five,
The clock chimes six to arise;
Clad in winter coat, stole, bonnet and boots,
Londoners hurry to catch the tube
Anita Bacha

https://m.facebook.com/Ani.Bacha/

SPRING IN DÜSSELDORF 

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

https://www.instagram.com/anitabacha/

SPRING IS HERE

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,
 Flirts jauntily,
 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 –

https://m.facebook.com/Ani.Bacha/

London Book Fair17 

Going down High Street,Olympia,My heart overflows with nostalgia;

On tree tops,I behold

Blossoms of green and gold;

At the London Book Fair,

Writers and poets fare;

In the pages of each book,

I delve and I look,

Your name is engraved by the invisible

Hand of God.

Anita Bacha

https://www.instagram.com/anitabacha/