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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  7/2/2015 4:49:43 AM
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  Best Poems From
  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  13597.     

The Prey

early this morning
when i go out of my room
into a garden of trees
and stones
there with all fidelity
the spider is
spinning its web again
in the most usual
and visible manner
connecting a transparent
line from a twig
to another twig of the same
tree

soon another fly
or mosquito shall be caught
as its
unwary prey
the victim never learns
a thing.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  13598.     

The Pride Of This Body

the sickness of the body
confesses upon you that you have
done something
wrong to it,

and it won't tell you
in straight language of
silver

it speaks in pain
and you will feel it
and you
shall try hard to figure
out
what is it

you ask for the cure?
the body too has its own
pride

it won't reveal
it has secrets of its own
that it will bring
even to its
grave....
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  13599.     

The Private Rooom

this is a universe in itself
with all the planets around it and stars so distant

unlike before you scream alone
no help comes
be it the fireman or the medical aide

now the fingers run
to places where we have been hiding
to thoughts where we have once surrendered
because of debilitating weakness

now courage is silenced but inside
its throat
thoughts shape themselves like dough
and then the yeasts of memories make them rise
you smell the sweetness of the past
that wafts in all the corners of your room
and so
with all these shortcomings and refusals
to see light
to open the shutters you shall still live
and reap the fruits of your isolation

these are white flowers that bloom
in lonely nights
scented and still proud
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  13600.     

The Problem

the problem with us is that when we open the computer and begin
to read poetry we cannot stop, we do not know when and where to stop
we get carried away like a paper boat on the river and we do not know
where we shall be taken
and not only that
in some mysterious ways we too assume the hands of the poet his mind
his emotions contaminating us
and we (oh let me just talk about myself)

and i begin to write myself some lines
honestly not knowing where these line come from
and like ants they invade me and begin to eat me like a chunk of chocolate
or a broken biscuit or a grain of rice that they all carry like a good catch

and then i pride myself with the belief that i must still be sweet
as chocolate, crisp and tasty like a biscuit, and white and unblemished
like a grain of rice

not because i am writing poems
but because the ants too, like the river have carried me away
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA