Dead And Buried... Poem by RIC BASTASA

when we were children
there was this faraway hill
covered with grass, and on top
of this hill was a big
mango tree which at that time
of the year was filled with
ripe mango fruits and there
was nobody there as though
it is owned by all

we went there and we gathered
the fruits filling our baskets.

no one ever said that we were
stealing mangoes.

i miss that time when mangoes
were for all those who simply
want to climb and then gather.

i miss my friends and i tried to
call them only to be informed
either that they are sick or
that they were dead and buried.