Even The Best Chosen Words Cannot Tell. Poem by RIC BASTASA

i can sacrifice, once, twice, thrice,

or even to the nth time, one which you cannot count,

in the name of words, which ultimately boils down to

God, His Majesty,
his Omnipotence,

those were the reckless times, rushing to the sea, caressing the hair
with so much salt, and diving deep, learning how not to breath and yet
see the beauty, in complete silence,

where the self is lost away from everyone on the surface of
things,

i can always sacrifice, what i want to be, i can throw money to the river,
and see all these gone,

as i did once, in the name of poetry,
and our friendship,

in a certain place under the moon, beside the forest, upon the foot of hills, where barehanded we embrace life at its utmost helplessness, and yet so complete with


nothing at all, naked, warm, deep,
fulfilled.

how do we make it happen? even the best chosen words cannot tell.