To A Long Suffering Self.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

suffering is an unseen
ghost
it haunts me in my
forest
the worms sometimes sing
and it is
more often than not
disturbing

specks of light sometimes
come in
like a drizzle of rain

it does not wet me
but makes me smooth and
glowing

a halo of bubbles
often comes out from the locks
of my hair
but i do not really mind

that indeed in every aspect
of everyday suffering
these bits and bits of miracles
do constantly happen


like some sort of givens

we sit upon trees like monkeys
deprived of our tails
eating the ripe bananas in the middle
of our lamentations

provided from nowhere
and we often ask ourselves

how come we have survived for years?