My Hands To The Sky Poem by RIC BASTASA

when finally you admit that what you told me about the sea was not at all true, i told myself, it does not matter for i have sailed it and the journey was smooth, the nights filled with stars, the silence as beautiful as the woman in my mind.

people lie and that is acceptable if the reason has always been as a means of coping up with the harshness of living.
that people lie is not a lie. it is a fact that we simply have to endure, give it a shudder over our shoulders and then we simply do the next chore as though nothing is worth talking about.

whatever you say is negligible. i always turn to myself and resort to the truthfulness of an experience. It is the first hand experience that says nothing at all and yet has never never ever lied to me.

my feet on the ground. my hands to the sky. my eyes closed.