RIC BASTASA


5: 10 P.M. Along A Narrow Path - Poem by RIC BASTASA

late afternoon at 5: 10 i look at my watch.
darkness is coming like a grey blanket to the mountain.
i walk on this narrow path.
Grassy.
It means no one passes here as often.
Secluded path.
Less entered.
Or maybe forgotten.
Or maybe avoided.
Dangerous perhaps.
I walk on it for a time now.
No sound of birds.
Just darkness trying to steal every light of day.

And then i meet you.
My eyes are poor to sight now.
I see a shadow meeting me,
and when we are too near
i see your smile. It is met with my smile too,
like lovers.
I like them.
these smiles to be lovers anyhow.
I am thirsty.
I am hungry, for love.
Or even lust.
I am very hungry.Indeed i am very thirsty.

Then you pass by my shoulder on this narrow path.
You smell like a big basket of flowers,
the champaca that i grow
right in my own backyard that i always smell at night
in my place.Alone.

The cold air carries your perfume inside my nostrils.
It rebounds within the corners of my mind.
It seeps in my soul.It is absorbed like urine to a pamper.
It stays in my heart.
I am reborn.
My heart is restless again.
IT is you that i meet.
It is your perfume pervading on that narrow path
deep down into the bonemarrow of my soul.

I like the dark clouds to rain.Hard, unstopping.
I like to run.
Anywhere.
I like to bathe
under the rain. I like to get wet all over.
I like to play a game under
the rain. I like to be a child again. Hardheaded. Sick.
The ground where i stand is dry. My chest is empty and my
body is fuming with hot lava like a volcano.
I like to erupt.

I like to undress and be naked.
I like to throw my hat to the trees.
Myjacket to the wind.
My shoes to the forest.
My socks to the creeks.
My watch to the farthest skies.

I like to throw away this book of poetry that i keep inside my armpit.
I like to burn it even. I like its pages to be blown like leaves
anywhere. Anywhere. I like them lost forever.

I like to jump into the river. I like to drown. I like to be lost
at the bottom.I like to close my eyes. I like to be carried away.

i do not like to go back to the narrow path.
I do not like to meet you
again and pass me by.
It is always like that.
Meeting. Opposite ways.
Leaving. Departure. Regrets. Silence.
Perfumes that do not leave me.

Where does love live? what is her name?
I do not know you, Love.
Why is it always like that?
Opposite ways. Repulsion. I never felt
what true love is. Obstructed. I don't know.
I was never embraced with the warmth of
its armpits.
I am the air gushing, going and going, arriving at nothing.


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, October 12, 2008

Poem Edited: Sunday, October 12, 2008


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