On Locking Doors Poem by RIC BASTASA

he locked doors which he decided not to open anymore.
and that was long time ago. he forgets all about those doors.
this day he sees a door open. He gets inside a restaurant
for an early morning breakfast.
Someone sits there looking at the window where traffic on the street is slowly building up like fire.
The crowd outside is noisy but silenced by the glass door.
It is the real world.
Breakfast is slow and gentle and savory.
He got the coffee of his life from another hand now.
Egg has always been sunny side up. And bread is now
preferred than rice.
The smell of coffee, its sweet fumes rises to the ceiling
where light enters by the side of the roof.
The room is bright now.
There is always a blank face to everyone here.
The waitress is looking at us.
Evidently, it is not whether she cares.
It is more of like, well, as usual, she means business.
Life is always a mode of serving you and then you pay.
What more do you expect?
The world moves this way. No one serves you because
of love.
It is because she too must live.
And not just you and your floating soul.