I wish I were

I wish I were the letters that drop from your fountain pen,

And, splotch the virgin white sheet of paper,

The fountain pen that you fondly hold in your hand

And, shape the words exposing your unleash passion,

I wish I were the ink smudged hand on which you rest your chin,

When you contemplate on the forlorn night for inspiration,

The maladroit stroke of ink that brushes your cheek

And, leaves a blue bite mark like a possessive lover,

I wish I were the notebook that hoards your precious poems

And, you hide in secret under your pillow when you sleep,

The pillow that stanchly guards the secrets of your dream life

And, sings you to slumber when night tide engulfs poets and lexis.

Anita Bacha

LEONARD COHEN

Just learnt about the passing of  Leonard Cohen,the Canadian poet, singer and song writer at the age of 85. By mere coincidence, I purchased his poetry book ‘book of longing’ from W.H.Smith last month in Wood Green, London. Since then, I am reading his book every day,little by little, to make it last. ‘book of longing’ is exceptional, easy to read, funny, poetic,romantic, spiritual, sad and sensual. I find myself, my soul in this book…a great loss for the world of poetry…

Frise Bas Perle

NIGHTINGALE

I BUILT MY HOUSE BESIDE THE WOOD

SO I COULD HEAR YOU SINGING

AND IT WAS SWEET AND IT WAS GOOD

AND LOVE WAS ALL BEGINNING

FARE THEE WELL MY NIGHTINGALE

‘TWAS LONG AGO I FOUND YOU

NOW ALL YOUR SONGS OF BEAUTY FAIL

THE FOREST CLOSES’ROUND YOU

THE SUN GOES DOWN BEHIND A VEIL

‘TIS NOW THAT YOU WOULD CALL ME

SO REST IN PEACE MY NIGHTINGALE

BENEATH YOUR BRANCH OF HOLLY

FARE THEE WELL MY NIGHTINGALE

I LIVED BUT TO BE NEAR YOU

THOUGH YOU ARE SINGING SOMEWHERE STILL

I CAN NO LONGER HEAR YOU

LEONARD COHEN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WRITE TO ME THE WORDS

Write to me the words

Write to me the words of love

 That you don’t dare to tell me

 Write to me the words

 Write to me the words of love

That you blow in my hair

 At night when you sleep near me

Write to me the words

 Write to me the words of love

 That you draw on the sand

And the jealous wave clears with her lips

 Write to me the words

 Write to me the words of the melody that you hum

 And the wind carries in a waltz of leaves

Write to me the words

 Write to me the words of love

 In a book without page

  With the ink of eternity

Anita Bacha©

Illustration/Painting/Artist/Francis Apied

words

 

MY POETRY 

My poetry is my inseparable lover

At night I snuggle and slumber with her

A velvety couch of imagery is our dream

Of mystic lands beings and forms unseen

In the morning my eyes open to her beauty

In her silky tresses I thread myself furtively

Her kisses are words of ecstasy

Burning my skin as evanescent paper arduously

As she carves with the pen of immortality

She turns to ashes my poet’s frisk and folly

Turning my heart to lyrics of past life and mystery

Together we plough in the pasture of eternity 

http://www.poetryofanitabacha.com

World Poetry Day

My Poetry

My poetry is my inseparable lover

At night I snuggle and slumber with her

A velvety couch of imagery is our dream

Of mystic lands, beings and forms unseen

In the morn my eyes open to her beauty

In her silky tresses I thread myself furtively

Her kisses are words of ecstasy

Burning my skin as evanescent paper arduously

As she carves with the pen of immortality

She turns to ashes my poet’s frisk and folly

Turning my heart to lyrics of past life and mystery

Together we plough in the pasture of divinity

Anita Bacha

Short Stories