Anchor Poem by RIC BASTASA

As a baby
I was fastened to mother’s belly
As I float in her amniotic fluids
Through an uncut umbilical cord,

I kept that
In my navel forever, perhaps,

As times pass by, as I begin living a life
Of my own, in work, in love,
In circles of my daily undertakings & means,
I anchor myself to some ideals
Like
Being clean, and honest, and

Having integrity, principles,
Sort of another set of umbilical cord,

Though in different conceptions,
A figurative sense of the word
Or something emblematic,

I keep
That in my mind, now, perhaps, who knows,
Forever,

The feeling of having to float is
Always there, wherever I am, be it in
A drinking spree with friends, making love with my wife,
Or asking a night with a woman that I just met
At the sleazy bar,
Or in the
Simple study of
Some ordinary events here and there,
A feeling of lightness for being so
Different from the rest of those who are
Here with me once,
These idiosyncrasies of self, always getting to know why me,
This quirk,
This oddball,
Why am I being different yet so ordinarily elbowing with all,
Why this sort of floating
Drifting,
Like a canoe on smooth silvery river,
Dusts floating in air,
A white crane gliding,
A waft of culinary flavors from a
A food plate,
A shadow of a plane hovering,
This drift,
This sail on some seas without land
Or anchor,

Like when I write poetry grasping ideas, floating, drifting ideas
Catching them with the nets of my recollections
Bobbing and dangling
Trying to find a buoy,
An anchor, of weight, to hold things together, to make links
Chains to hold on to.

Of what I am who I am
Who I was
And where I am going,

I hold on to faith
Hold on to faith, they will always tell me, the priest the nun
& the Voice of God
And just in case I still float, drift, and waft
To tense & terse feelings and lots of pretenses

I go outside,

Touch a tree, feel its rugged barks, smell its
Leaves, stick my hands to its sticky stains, and
I
Get stuck, I want it, I want being stuck.
I hold on, to the sturdy tree standing near me,
I hold on
Like a baby floating on amniotic fluids fastened to an umbilical cord
Or
Like a hot air balloon, anchored on some sandbags and ropes on the ground.
I am somehow fastened, anchored, I become real.
Now, touch me, talk to me, hold me tightly please.