Notes From A Native Boy Whose Grandpa Committed Suicide... Poem by RIC BASTASA

what you are saying
changes my belief on the innocence of the mountains,
i know that ultimately we are all leveled up
like a vast plain,
the woods and the rivers, oh, they meet at the convergences
of universality,

the old man has missed sorely his granddaughters who went to the city,
and had, since then never returned
no news, the anxiety multiplies like sands

one hears the scream of a woman finding out a man who hanged himself
at the beam of the house,

for now cause, except that he missed the children he loved.

i thought, suicide lives only in the loneliness of city rooms
in the senselessness of alleys and multiple doors,

same human struggle, same void,
same self-inflicted deaths.