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


Good Morning Frankfurt 

“What is this life if full of care 

We have no time to stand and stare ”

These verses I learned by heart 

I recall them now as I halt 

At the red light 

My eyes follow my intuition 

On the right 

A stunning scenery in oblivion 

A pond, ducks and fallen leaves 

I stand and I stare 

At a picture of life 

Which I capture to share