Loving To Live
I've been loving to see you live,
perhaps i live because of you, since you are the
object of all the world's gentleness,
I do not, actually, care much about the length of life
as i go for the quality of it,
For what does distance give us, except the mirage and the haze
and the lone silent hours of the days that give us nothing but the
boredom of repetitions?
I care much about this feeling, this transitory migration of
when it is gone, like a mist of a cold morning, what do i have in
The sun is not ours, It is a traveler too in the randomness of
its bloating and shrinking
I am melting with your loss, and like ice which has no more meaning
for spring, I admit, i have resolved
to go back to where i was once air, and be gone for a long, long while.
who knows? when i come back, i will be in the same garden, the same
leaf, the same vein.
RIC S. BASTASA