My Dear Sir Poem by RIC BASTASA

For Mr. GIL RAVAL




Bert may laugh at the height of his agility, bombard you with arguments how life is lived and wasted when spent on some musa velutina, bamburantas, or hibiscus rosa seninses, scarlet sages or butcher’s brooms,
But as you say it,
Some seeds simply need to be put in the punctures of the ground,
To put up the golden showers
Bursting, brushing to such a lush of green bushes
As I see it, you have an eye for wanton beauty
And as he has none
That is a major fault

How you viewed life must be seen through the eyelets of the ferns
The whole world viewed in the opulence of dancing ladies crowning
The decay of trees abandoned by the millipedes of boredoms

Life is a veranda lavished by Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Tsaicovsky, with some Pavarotti, and Bocelli, Carmen, and Cossette or perhaps by Kazantzakis, and Rushdie

Or fettuccine

I plant an earthstar
So we look down to search its twinkles

You shall be my refuge, my hush
As I am a weary dragonfly

I have seen how you built a world of majestic mockery
Not much gold but greatly green
Hypnotic amidst the chaos

On this day, our narrow paths converge
And to my surprise, my footprints have same size as yours
Carrying the same marks (or even same brokenness)

Whoever knows me, knows you,
My fears drawn from yours, my hope springing from your source

I say, my dear sir, you have lived a good life and I shall be crafting mine

Behind the pompous stars
Unaffected by the nitpickiness of the ebbs of the moon’s tides

We let our eyes fall, malfunction, and even dissolve into tears, gone
We shall grow nothing but ears throughout our bodies

We are a listening duet
Listening to colors of the marguerite, the night scented jessamine, Xanadu, creeping jenny,
Or the angel’s trumpets

Listen to the notes of the words
The message according to the lashing green garden
The song of the freely flowing wind
And deep within a
Singing silence

Now, take the highest jump of the lightest flea
The last wish of my dream
Towards the endlessness