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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  8/31/2014 5:26:48 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  11633.     

that feeling

that feeling of being
a gold fish
inside a round glass bowl
where your world
is only water and
sand

and then hand takes
it and breaks the bowl on the floor
a gold fish wriggles
gasping for air

there is none
do you feel this now?
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11634.     

that feeling of numbness

numbness crawls like centipede
on the side of my legs
something hollow keeps it inside
an existential question forms itself
on the womb of my being
insecurity is fertilized
the oblong gets sustenance
fingers touch the sacred place
my crotch
i sow the seed of desire
it grows
and hardens and i thank God
I am still alive.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11635.     

that feeling of self-importance

indeed sir you are a figure to watch
as you enter the room
a strange air diffuses from the pores of your skin
perfumed with power and glossy with privileges
the gods of fortune have given you more than what
most of us could have deserved
after all those distasteful years of
sisyphus
how we pulled the stone on top
and how it was rolled over and over again and we
ordinary mortals picked it up
over and over again

we do not laugh at ourselves to our generous endeavors
we all tried to please the gods
yet our offerings are always inferior to yours sir

nature has treated you special and we do not wonder why sir
your name is engraved in marble and the letters are made of gold
your genealogy matters most
your roots they preserved with utmost concern
you descended from kings
you ascended as the rightful king to the throne reserved for you

and so this morning as you enter the room
you slid your finger to us dusts of the cabinet and you signified
we deserved to be blown away just like that

you signaled to the guards
we do not deserve to sit on chairs because the floors are ours

the air is dense and your pride made it humid
i am fed up and i rise from my coyness and decided to leave

i am weary of pretenses. i am tired of my silence.
i have wings. i belong to the birds. And now it is my time to fly away.

in our world of wings, we do not keep air, we give them all away.
we are so light, and we fly to our kind of height. we are always alone.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11636.     

that feeling...

the dews

they are temporary you know

but try looking at them
on an early morning

when they hang
on the leaf

when they are together
and then in a moment

gone.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA