About Other People’s Lives Poem by RIC BASTASA

About other people’s lives

Rizal the hero must have chewed cud
And found the grass bitter, or the mongo
Beans too hard for his taste. Perhaps he
Did not know the exact number of
His buttons when he walked towards
Luneta and face his accusers
And meet his death. Perhaps he did not
Like the light from his lamp when
He wrote a poem. I do not really know
More about his persona life.
Did he like cheese? Did he take a deep
Breath and spit on the dogs along
The road? He poured no tears
Onto the frying pan of this
Old country. They wrote a lot
After two or more centuries
And there were so many stories
Not really rumors but I thank
God I am no great hero.
No one writes about me
And I think I am more understood
In my own privacy.

I do not really mind about
Other people’s lives
I do not peep on my
Neighbor’s windows.
I move my own hip
And drive my own car
Slowly away from those
Crowd on the parking lots
Of the mall. I like to stay
On the side of an abandoned house
And just sit there for a while
For no reason at all.
Winds do not frisk trees I guess.
Hairs fell wherever they want.
I touch my own cheek
And bite my own lips.
God! I like it when I am here
And no one minds me.
And I mind no one too.
I like the bridge
Long enough for my
Hand to travel on my nose.