RIC S. BASTASA

poverty and hate
live in the
little village where
old coconut trees
fence out the
deep blue
sea

this place is ravaged by
a tribal war
each kin killing another kin
without mercy

just last week
a father with his three sons
were beheaded
the wife ran away
mad

the house is empty
abandoned

a lonely man lives alone
in the nearby little hut
under the cover of a dark night
filled with stars

he plays his old guitar
strumming his sadness
telling the stars
about this wasteland
this horrible
place of killing fields

of vengeful men
against their
fellow men

this green place
could have been
a paradise in
peace

the stars glitter in
innocence
as the song floats in air
and just like the sands of this
bloody shore

seem to feel nothing
at all