THE LAST POEM

The sky is turning red and orange,

Time for the sun to set,

For the moon to rise,

The sea yawns, ready to sleep;

We sit on the beach,

My head leaning on your shoulder;

You read to me your last poem,

‘We will meet again!

I will write our love story again!’

Night creeps in,behold!

I cup your face in my hands,

Your lips are cold;

You turn into a handful of sand,

The last poem ends.

Anita Bacha

Illustrative/Photography/AnitaBacha

Processed with MOLDIV

Advertisements

Book signing

The past is your lesson

The present is your gift

The future is your poetry

Anita Bacha

My poetry book SOUL POETRY was yet another opportunity for me to travel and discover the reading world.

It’s incredible and worthy to note that books have a precious place in the heart of the millennial, our audience today and tomorrow.

At the Kuala Lumpur International Book Fair 2018, I realized that it’s a great joy to witness readers, young and old,buying and investing in our words, in our poetry.

 

Dawn of a New Tomorrow

Come to me, my love

A dawn announces a new tomorrow,

Break off your fetters of pain and sorrow,

Wipe the tears from your searing eyes,

Dawn clears to-day with a swipe,

Come to me,

Come to me, my love,

The sun burns out,

Plunges in the arms of the sea to die,

The mountain lifts on her toes to hug the sky,

The repudiate lover holds on helplessly,

As dawn covers her cries cruelly,

Come to me, my love,

Let us spread our wings and fly

Anita Bacha

Illustrative/Photography/AnitaBacha

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

NEHA JINDAL – PHASES OF MOON A POETIC JOURNEY OF A GIRL PHASES OF MOON is Neha Jindal’s debut collection of poems. A treat for lovers of poetry, it traces the phases in the life of a woman from teenage days to motherhood with glimpses of infatuation, love, marriage, in laws and children. Its title is perfect. In the Western culture, the four principal phases of the Moon are new moon, first quarter, full moon and third quarter, also known as last quarter. In life, phases normally begin with a daydream .Here the phases start with the daydream of a teenager and move on poetically as life unfolds in an awesome poem of wisdom. ‘Phases of Moon’ is a book devoted entirely to what poetry can give us as pleasure for the senses. It’s a little book of twenty poems that I carried in my purse for weeks, reading and savoring each and every poem before I sat down today to write this review. Each poem of Neha Jindal’s has its weight of gold. Like every poet, every poem is unique; every poem is a precious gem. I trust that this book will find its place in the hearts of all poetry lovers as much as it has found a special place in my heart. Anita Bacha Writer

Image

Lover’s Dream

My dream wiggles out of the dormant shell,

Like a snail drenched in celestial deluge,

A dream of red wine that fills the lover’s heart;

My drunken mouth finds your soft mouth,

Crystallizes into an evening of dew,

My ardent lips find your moist lips,

In a kiss predestined and long due;

A kiss of flesh, a kiss of blood,

A kiss so divine,

Uniting our body and soul,

Once again in many lives;

A union blessed by the gods in heaven,

Sprinkled with holy rain drops and drizzly tears,

Precious gems thread in a rosary to chant our name,

Cheered by the moon and the stars ardently,

Lovers reborn in eternity

Anita Bacha

Honeysuckle

Pressed against his body,

His breath smouldering her neck,

She felt his flower growing,

Impatient,

Wanting,

Growing,

Then melting like sweet honey,

Wetting her wedding sari,

Leaving a broad stain,

And a sweet smell;

Souvenir of a first caress

In a hotel elevator .

Anita Bacha

Writer’s note: The honeysuckle is a sweet smelling flower that grows in bush in many parts of the world. The pink honeysuckle that we find in Japan is the symbol of the bond of love between husband and wife. It also symbolizes devotion, fidelity and generosity.