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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  8/1/2014 12:44:40 AM
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  11633.     

the poor rich boy named Al

you say, you pity him, he has everything
and today, he commits the greatest blunder of living
killing himself

did he leave a note? did he call you before he took his last breath?
he didn't
he wants to die a silent death, one that can be mistaken as a

happy death, goodbye, pretty world,
i am finally leaving you
no problems

sometimes i may get you wrong pitying the poor little rich boy
who had everything
and who despite everything he has, , , , this everything, these all these
all these that you want to have but couldn't have any
cars, boats, diversified business, real estate,
cruises, money, money and more money
buying happiness here and there
only to find that
he is finally lost and cannot find his way back home
to himself
finding the emptiness of a mother who dies
more recently, because of extreme loneliness
amidst the crowd, the socializing and the
loud music of not belonging to anything
to anyone

he still kills himself, and you
feel this kind of pity, this wastage of human resource,

you are thinking and you have this line of thinking
that those who died by killing themselves are a waste
an epitome of unhappiness
bizarre, a sadness galore, unexplainable

i disagree, they are happier, and have chosen the smooth path
of laying their lives with their own hands in the altar of
the gods of early, handy, packaged death

and i wonder if you feel the guilt of them thinking
i am taking this life, and it is none of your business,
damn, damn, this empty space is now reserved for you

because, who knows, you may be next, my dear jeannie.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11634.     

the sounds of jeepneys are gone

The sounds of jeepneys are gone
The champaca trees bloom again
This evening beside you.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11635.     

the sun

almighty
the sun continually burns itself
at the center
of this universe to give life

light to everyone
the single cell the widest ocean
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11636.     

the (f) rying woman....

to pry upon his weakness and to discover
some artifacts from his house is her past time

and every hour when there is a break from the
wanton hours and the monotonous menu of the day

she opens the usual window and watch what the
worm is doing inside the terrarium

she records the possibility that this can be a landmark
of history and significant for what others say as a phenomenon

other people's lives matter
and sometimes the worm that looks at her too asks: why?

the worm, and she does not know this, is also prying upon her
her shrinking breasts, her skin that looks like dry tobacco leaf

her life that to the worm has become more of a raisin
stuffed inside a boxed, with a history of having been dried by the sun

the worm is fair though, in its latest description
she is still sweet though neutral in smell, and deserves still to be liked to be eaten someday

p.s. the worm remarks, kids will like her.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA