Gifts Of Silences... Poem by RIC BASTASA

here we are again pinning needles
in our epidermal existences
trying to pierce every flesh
carefully noting every bursting of pus
and blood
mapping out the cartilages and bones
of our sorrows

two years more and perhaps another
twenty years of
existence
in order to understand the meaning of life

a life that lies there naked
so tempting and scented by the thousand jasmines
and saffrons
on spiced blankets
rosemary and lemon grass
and basil in every seams
of the pillows

the hands of time keep gripping
what ought to be mine (or even hours)
it does not know how to give
what we want to sip and savor
and caress

the eyes of the storms stare at us with
anger ready to strike us with its fits
and fists

this pilgrimage tiptoes on slow feet
because we are all tired figuring out what is real
oasis from the
mirage of the heat of the desert beyond us

we like to see the white seagulls feasting on a school
of fish
at the coastal collateral of our side trips

a little drink from the hands of the vestal virgins
some kisses from the dewy lips of dawn
a warm morning's hug, and nights non stop
fleshy circus

there are many things more to do
more events to attend too and many other letters
to compose

by then night has come with the gifts of silence
and then i say, ' i do, i will keep on doing what is there to make
the best of yet to come'

keep listening Beethoven, keep dancing Lady Dianne
we are here watching.