About Being Extrasensitive The Places Around You... Poem by RIC BASTASA

I SEE sparrows gathering
little pieces of leaves and
light husks
for the building of
their nests

it is time for laying eggs
this summer
when the winds are a little bit
colder

i see leaves falling
the trees getting bald
becoming like new fingers
under the sky

i see grass spreading
slowly turning brown
like muscovado sugar

i see mountains
where clouds hang like
smoke from pipes
of old men waiting
still on there
veranda

i see roads where old cars pass
leaving an eddy
of dusts
slowly settling down again
like a light brown mantle
of the breakfast
table

you should have seen me
how foolishly have i waited for you
in this old house
where we first met
many years ago

you should have felt how a poem like this
can be written

because waiting can be an agony
and without being extra sensitive to all that i see beyond all these longings

the horizon over there
the mountains and grass and roads running without ending
and eddies of dust of old cars that conk and honk
and winds that manipulate the helplessness of leaves
as cold as feelings of being
ruthlessly abandoned

without all these
life could have long surrendered
could have long ceased
like a calendar
on the last day of Christmas