A Glimpse... Poem by RIC BASTASA

in my youth i saw flying plates
broken glass lamps, wasted rice grains,
invectives and curses were always
the sounds of the house,

i promise not to copy and paste
those things, sad,
disappointing, unfortunate human
conflagrations of the innocence
of some souls,

now i am free.

i listen to nobody but only the voices within me
they are peaceful, every tapestry embroidered with logic
and reason,

searching for more wisdom
listening more than talking

i am staying and i like it this way now

the shells of the past were burned
the ashes thrown at the feet of Dipolog river.