Independence Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is a matter of disposition,
nothing binds us if we do not allow it
inside our minds,

it is attitudinal, direct the eyes
to gaze upon those
that liberates not those that
encloses us to a narrow path
a box a compartment foul and full

go beyond what you see
create meanings innate in the coatings
of realities
jump beyond the fences of this being
this temporary house
what doors will last here?

nothing, these are but our illusions
of doors where there are none
of bars of steel where there are but vines
and tendrils

imagine a self, where skin and bones bare
undress, skulls are actually dusts
refined particles of bluntness,
try the spirit of the bird that flies away

and comes back as a leaf a twig
a truck with roots
and sap, the leaves where dew
resides

do not stay, always prepare to go
and when you go, do not tarry,
follow the path of light and then
be the light itself piercing what

was not there before, that which
we dream and hope for
that which we are not in touch
but so deeply entwined.