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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  12/20/2014 5:28:22 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  7197.     

In my house

You enter a room to see a park
You close a door only to be led to another stairway

Leading you to another room with nothing but windows
You close a window the rest remains open

You close the windows and another door
In that park in the room where you just entered
Opens

Then you are confused about the roof that opens
To a river to the rocks where another door opens
To a wall with trees and birds and butterflies

This is weird you say, this is really weird
Then from the garage comes a wind that blows
Its horn like a car

I have just arrived offering you an explanation
For all these mess, these uncertainties, these self-made

confusions.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  7198.     

in my island...

there is no regret having stayed
in this humble land of my
forefathers,
there are no chocolates,
no green money,
nothing of those jumbo hot-dogs
and burgers and hams and sandwiches
no coffee or tea
nothing of those cakes and wheat breads

plain potatoes and dried fish
and staple rice

no earthquakes, no volcanic eruptions,
no tsunamis

i am not stuck in here
we live here
forever.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  7199.     

In my little country, faraway from you

It is two o’clock in the morning
And you are not asleep yet
Disturbed you confessed
About something
This love
This love that has disappointed you
To my surprise
You are in a mood for a fight
You ask

Is it you
Is it really you hidden?
Buried beneath my words

You ask me to tell you honestly
We are friends
We do not intend to hurt
I tell you then it is not you
It is never you it will never be you
Now sleep
It is getting very late
You need to rest you are in pain
You need to dream all the sweetest dreams

In my country it is still an afternoon
We have coffee
The sun begins to set
There is no anger here there is no disappointment
About love or any other feeling
I am reminded though
Again I have to tell you
That which angers you has finally conquered you.

Dinner is served, faraway you must be asleep.
I do not dine alone. We still have jokes to tell.
Some more poems to write, this time, perhaps sadder.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  7200.     

In My Mind, The Stories Remain Unwritten

if i were to write the stories
about the lives of those who were already dead

remembering them when we carried
wrought iron in the hills

many years back and then when they were buried
on those shallow graves

and then i was the lucky one who escaped and then
kept on running and running without looking back

and then i change the color of my shirt and pants and
then i pretend that i have fully discovered the place for me

i tell you, if i make you read these stories, these will
all be about guilt, guilt, unnecessary guilt,

and i become so tired, i like to go back inside my room,
take my pillow, stare at the ceiling, and then

those bones come, each bone telling a story,
as i cover my ears, and promise that tomorrow

tomorrow, i will start to write and write truly about
what happened there, and then i may die in peace

even in my sleep tonight.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA