And Without Any Agreement We Become What We Are Within Us... Poem by RIC BASTASA

there is a
relationship
developing between
this craft and
myself, it is this
consistency
like the way mornings
arrived on time
like the way afternoons
introduce an evening
like the way the moon
comes by my window
like the way the curtains
too sway with the flirting
of the wind outside
the house,

the relationship is like
that of the piano and
the fingers
as they try to make
music together
to fill an empty space
of monotony

there is no demand whatsoever
that you read or
listen
that you come and stop for
a while
and take a drink and
think for a moment why
music is composed
why a poem is written
why stairs are built

i myself have not asked for
the reason anymore
everything just comes handy
like strangers arriving
and then watching a painter
does the brushes of
his creative images on the
canvass of a violent
environment
on the streets of Belgrade
in the squares of Romania

how the violinist
persists upon a note that
does not bring him
back his bread and butter
and how somehow he gets
contentment of following
any note in air that
takes him to
a not so definite infinity

this has taken quite long
long time
and nothing important really
is in the making
as always there are only
trivialities that make life
still worth living &
sometimes accepted without
any question anymore

the morning light has landed
on the drapes of the house
of my father
another being is touched
another soul is perforated
some molecules of air
that we know which we have
not seen ourselves
have arrived and then the
party of silences begin

and without any agreement
about when and where and what
and how
simply

we become what we are
within us
without need of everything...