Self-Automated Pendulums... Poem by RIC BASTASA
Self-Automated Pendulums...
in the morning
is the quiet
the sound of the
sliding window
slices solitude
into two pieces
and then back to
the silence and the
hushes
of the curtains
as the wind enters
and then the songs
of the leaves and
the birds by the
window
out there the
world begins to do
its own chores
whether you wake up
or not, the world
moves
people go forth
swinging like some
automated pendulums.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/23/2024 5:06:56 PM # 1.0.0.1119
