Bitterness.... - Poem by RIC BASTASA

if you believe that freedom is
absolute, that is
you always have the power to choose
every inch, and
variety, much always to your liking,

you are wrong

(forget poetry for once
forget this hiding place
forget this secret garden
where you are growing your
own set and color
of flowers
choosing well the weeds
and rock
focused on inner freedom
and this quest for originality and

when you were thrown into this world
your brain was just a pea
your fingers appear like insignificant commas
in a sentence
in another context you are sentenced
to a prison
not of your liking of course
validated coercion

for instance you are born to poor parents
a not so well developed skull where you little brain grows
you are thrown into a place
of the slums and
polluted air
where people kill one another for a dime
or even for free
on a tripping

you consider yourself still lucky
you are still alive
that is consolation enough

you proclaim

for things that i cannot change i leave them
but there are those that i can still change

you will change the world?

you cut the grasses, clean a path, walk,
you work hard in school
devoting yourself to studies and thinking
ponderous soul

you finish a course
you marry the right woman
find the right work
and you say i am wrong
you make a difference
you have progressed
self-made man
dignified, honored,

then you laugh at me and say
'you see i am now free'

and you expect me to be silent and
say i am sorry i am wrong

look at you
your face is now twisted
your legs are not rooted to the ground equally
one leg is higher than the other
you practiced dancing all your life
dancing to life's demands
tiptoeing like a ballet dancer
the circus man on a tightrope
trying to please
those kings and queens
the system
hammered you to a lot of compromises
and on their standards
most of you have become distorted
your chin is bending towards your ear
your lips bloat like a dead fish
you have scars in your forehead
stitches on your neck
Mr. Frankenstein

ah, indeed you are free now
and behind you, this sour and bitter old man
is holding his laughter

for i think
i will have the last laugh
until i find my eternal rest
six feet under

if they ask me to come back
it is definitely a big
and uncompromising No.

Sorry, i don't believe in anything else
forgive me, but not even myself
This agnostic too doubts himself.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Poem Edited: Thursday, May 5, 2011

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