2: 19 A.M Poem by RIC BASTASA

i am marking
this when we gathered
last night
for the party

your laughter and
her laughter
stretched that far
almost
arriving at the
cry.

i know what is going
on but there is this virtue
of silence

this pretending that
i do not know this kind of
awe

that i am innocent
that i do not know what is
happening with you

veil life with laughter
hide its uglier face
walk towards the altar of
our common gods
of pride and
bias

here i pretend i am a child
before a mother
ready to beat me with her
disciplinary sticks

here you are the mother
of so much sorrow of so much
pain which you have
endured for long

here we hold our glasses of wine
here you gulped just once
here i stop for a talk and set
aside my drink

here you tell me
everything is wrong with me
here i listen
knowing what's wrong
what's real
what's fantasy

did you not realize that
to take power
one must initiate that
hidden repair

did you not know that one
must stoop in order to conquer?
that one must pretend not to know
to let out the truth?

i have a carabao in my own farm
and i never beat it with a bamboo
so it will follow.