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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  2/9/2016 6:27:28 PM
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  5597.     

At The Rural Side Of This World

when i step out of my door
i see a road lined with mahogany trees
an empty wide road
but not that muddy really
at this rainy season of the year

i hear the chirping of birds
and the hushing of the wind
greeting me with the coolness of
an after rain,

the grasses are still wet with dew,
the paths still dappled with water,
the pebbles glistening
to the sunlit view of
the hills which are so green and vibrant
the distant mountains shaded blue
tall and huge their tips almost touching the sky

there are no cars here just wooden sleds
pulled by the cows
of the working men
at the other side of the river nearby
some water buffaloes are restive on
cool wade in their mud holes
their tails whipping their butts
to drive away the gnats


i am waiting for the bus going to the city
the only bus for the day
and it will pass by here at eight.

on the bench opposite where i am seated
three girls are giggling

a handsome boy riding on a horse whistles
at the one with the long black hair

the sun is shining brightly on an ordinary day like this
on the rural side of this world that i have chosen to visit
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  5598.     

At The Seaside, A Solitude

the seaside is peaceful
the sky is blue with white cumulus clouds hanging there
slowly they move and change shapes
like the air is painting and mixing the colors in space
gentle hues graceful strokes
the white sands extend to some miles
the coconut trees are like handshakes
their shadows restive and steady
i lay my body weary of the years
i look at all these lines and circles and spheres
i like to give up thinking and just be a spectator
i let them talk and i merely listen
the seaside, the seagull, the clouds, the coconut trees, the white sands,
the circles and spheres and lines extending
to nowhere.

i cover my eyes with a straw hat. I cease.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  5599.     

At The Second Floor

at the second floor of the old house
he goes up
taking the creaking stairs
as though telling him some old stories
about the falling of the
clan house to ashes for years
no one dared say
about the fall of this family
there are whispers
not louder as a thud of a cat's foot
limping on the carpet

up there is the open space overlooking the blue sea
a white sail and some foams of the sea caps
catch his attention but he can not withstand such a distant view
his eyes are hurt by too much light and tiny object

he looks at the nearby tree
old mahogany spreading its branches touching the roof

there is this single leaf that falls
a hush of the wind

twirling to the shaded space
it lands on the pebbles

nothing is heard but he has seen it all
the fall.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  5600.     

At The Shrine

it will take me a night
to sail by boat to the old city
of my ancestors
i will ride a horse for
another two days to
reach the shrine
where i shall bow down
in prayer lighting
a candle for the dead.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA