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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  1/26/2015 6:24:33 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  11633.     

that afternoon

i was there again
standing by the side of the old
glass windows
hazy because of the dust
it is hazy, hazy
the sea is linen white
the coconut trees as tall as they are very old
planted perhaps before the war
before the Japanese came
and ravished the spirits of our innocent people
i was there again
standing on a moment
always seeing
that rusty van parked
without its front wheel
nobody from there is asking
what is happening
it is hazy, as hazy as dusts
on that old glass window
then a black bird flies through
it breaking the thin old glass
into shattered pieces

the afternoon ended
on that sudden noise
i am telling you
i am not shocked because
i am not new to this
how can i be? i am as old and as
tall as that coconut tree
i am from this place
and i know each grain of sand
on the shore
of that white linen sea.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11634.     

that beautiful art of flying above your body

i am not at all
shock
when she finally says
that this beautiful art of flying
over your body
seeing it then as a piece
of medium log
heavy on the bed
can be accomplished
so well
in such a brief instant
of the gunshot
on the head
or through the
mouth.

plain suicide
as simple as
you can do it
i can do it, but
i am not that
stupid to sacrifice
my own life
for the sake
of this art.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11635.     

that big black bird that does not leave the house...

and there is a big black bird

actually the neighborhood calls it the crow
with red eyes

the children who ask
do not know where it really comes from

it is staying by the window and feeds on
the noise of a couple who discuss about divorce possibilities

it likes the way the children carry on the
confusion about where to go and whether they are loved

the housemaid is driving it away
but it doesn't have that capacity

there is a wound in its heart and its wings
are clipped off from the sickness of
indecision

it loves to watch the way how the housemaids
are stealing stories from their masters

it is quite a long time now and the wound is healed
and the wings have grown to their original sizes

it is ready to fly away but it cannot
it loves the show of other peoples miseries and concealed motives

the black bird's first name is everyday
and its surname is everyone.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11636.     

That Boat In You

when love was an order
i followed it
it becomes a law
i am obliged

courtship, marriage
fidelity,
compassion, sticking with time
through and through
getting wet and getting dry
sleeping and waking up
and moving

you build a house
feel a home
go somewhere and
contemplate

changes of frames of mind from
time to time
wishing as if
as though, as if i could have been someone
else
or it could have been otherwise

summing it up,
you are still there
like a foot
inside the same old shoe

you are a tree
a very old tree
you claim you have tasted the world
residing on the same spot
till rotten
till cut and chopped
till what is left in you
is just
the firewood

love is freedom
be it unrequited
love is redeeming
despite the pain
and love is pain
despite the joy
circle, circle,
circumnavigate till
you sail back
to where you were first
built and
tasted the first
salty water
on that very same port
where every plank
of you
shatters.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA