Artistic Pursuits Poem by RIC BASTASA

the hands of days
are winds
bringing all dusts
to my hair

it is night
time
it is cold but
i wash my hair
to make
me colder

everything is getting
fresh
deep in the night
lots of
life
creep into my
soul


sleep is useless
i tell it
i do not need it

here i am
giving the sounds of silence
to this earth

here i am
writing letters
for those i do not
know
for those i have never
met


it is this joy of
saying
without knowing if
someone hears me


it is this automation
this self-generation this seeding
without having the interest to know
if something
grows from those unknown
unexplored grounds
tomorrow

this is a closed mouth
speaking to the earth
this is the sleepless soul
singing its songs
to the wilderness of
vast space


what i know
is that there is an end

a place
where you too
have never been


this is the joy
of our loneliness
we always do not know
about what happens next

that is the only
excitement left

someone,
someone is there

doing the same thing
ardently like one springtime

artistically....