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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  10/23/2014 2:54:14 PM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  11601.     

That Certain Man Named Belebel

when you call i am somewhere in
Pedro Gil
an hour ago i was in Taft
feeling the crowd of
Kabayan

i stop for a while thinking where
to go next
but then i find myself lurking in
a room
without nothing in mind

it is not strange to me
i am always on the move but i am not
looking for anything

they say that we were born with feet
so we have to use them
it is just this time that i realize
what mother told me once about
a certain Belebel

who is he? mother tells me that he was a
man of God
condemned to walk and never stop
because something in him is longing
for something that
he never once found
until he died and then
God smiled at him
because he walked and then
he lived and
then he died
with all his feet
connected
to earth.....
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11602.     

That Child Hiding In One Of The Nooks Of The Busy Kitchen

there there
there is that child that hides in one of the nooks of the kitchen
badly beaten
and crying in silence

for years he is hiding there
and everyone is disregarding him
justifying
he is one of those pasts
and pasts
shall be forgotten

there there
there is that child that keeps on crying silently
and endlessly for years
my attention is
always caught
saying

i am you and you are in me
do not pretend that the years have grown some callous skin in your hands
that you are hard
and impenetrable

i am your father my child
and you cannot just treat me like a shrug on a shoulder
like dandruff on your hair
like some
old uncut fingernails

think some more
for solutions

and if you find it
this trembling room shall stop trembling
your nightmares
finally gone
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11603.     

That Corrupt Woman

what i hear this
morning is about the news of her
disorientation

she repeats the names of
those who left her

over and over again
she keeps asking for her
pills

she has aches all over her
body

when she goes to the doctor
the latter finds nothing
wrong

it is the apathy of her soul
the Furies are pulling her hair
and breaking her every bone


bad karma is the knife that slices
every portion of her skin

she will be returned home
now there is no cure

she will speak in ciphers
that she herself cannot understand

there is pain everywhere
but there is no visible wound

she finds no comfort in air
she is grasping for breath

she tears her own clothes
and roams naked in her mansion

her children are asking her
but her answers are dumb.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11604.     

that day when the rain stopped.

all the while you will continue writing,
your voice too flattering
you hear a sound
the falling of a thread on the carpeted floor
the song of those sampaguita
petals white on the veranda of your house
the silence of a black cat on the window sill
that day when the rain stopped.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA