Decorated By Fake People.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

here
you hear
the song from
a conch

there are no
letters
to read

here you press
something to your
ear as a form
of endearment

there is no one
to miss
no one to remember

no baggage to carry
except perhaps sea breeze
landing on your
hair

here you feel only the
softness of the sands
the fragility of time
flowing from your
fingers
that must not close into
a fist
because it is not
called for

here birds are not
staying
always and always
they go for places
as though telling you
departures are not
meant to be sad
but for another
excitement

and so i love it here
rather than attend to your
party
decorated by all
fake people.