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Best Poems From
RIC S. BASTASA
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12797.
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the story of the mad man
at midnight
the old bell of the church
roars
there is no
funeral
there is no
birth
people imagine
a world that is ending
a child cries
mother is dead
RIC S. BASTASA
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12798.
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the story of the sharp tongue
with the repetitive sound of sighs and symmetrical silence
the tongue has become sharp and it stabs hearts
it breaks open what has been closed all along and hidden
birds start breaking out from cages
and feathers are left as memories which somehow the one who is left
empty takes it to his heart and becomes his pen
the lonely man writes
with blood from his bleeding heart stabbed by the sharpness of his own
past
the sound becomes even more demanding like routine that you cannot refuse
and somehow the silence becomes irregular, asymmetrical taking the shape
of a scream, which the tongue most sharpened now
slices into dust
and this reaches to the conclusion that no matter how sharp the tongue can be
it too shall in the end turn into
dust..............................
RIC S. BASTASA
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12799.
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The Straight Jacket
i am trying to shape
a world
with my own private thoughts
away from the mob
i am situating myself in a room
on closed doors and closed windows
except the light that i allow to enter
on glassy blocks
the walls will always be there
air comes through the ceiling
on tiny holes
i tried to forget viewing the stars
i must survive even without the light of the moon
it is less romantic
and i am no lunatic
but then she hints on what am i
saying: the fish is meant for the sea
the dog is always meant for a walk
the sparrow cannot live without flying on its wings
and she asks me: will you just be a poet?
or will you be the man for the seasons?
before she left, she left a note stuck on the fridge
magnetically: you are more than the fish, the sparrow, the dog
must i be? i sleep tightly like a straitjacket.
RIC S. BASTASA
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12800.
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the stranger in the mirror.....
the people around you make you doubt
your goodness,
they are well dressed, ride in their expensive cars,
defend their own causes,
at other people's expense,
it is always a case of self and vested interest
there is no such thing as benevolence or
that genuine concern for the welfare of others,
when you look at them again with their
twisted values which are so unlike their well shaped faces
their smooth skin and polished bearings
matching well with their maintained luxuries
you feel that you are this giant among the elves
at the first impression of the moment
these ants bite you and you feel so uncomfortable
you give back their world
of deception and oppression
and you retreat in your own private room
where your mirror lies,
and you look at your face carefully,
map out the terrains of your skin with
your long fingers
you are a stranger in the world outside you
you soon shall forget your name, your real work,
your vision and your claimed mission
you shall miss your roots
you shall not find again your origin
RIC S. BASTASA
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