RIC S. BASTASA


Our Little Spaces Called Self... - Poem by RIC S. BASTASA

it is something that you steal
from time, and time willingly gives it to you
so strictly speaking
it becomes more of a gift
that makes you too light
and the burden becomes a little bit
bearable
and somehow you put on a name
and you like it
you begin to dance with all delight
you love this moment but you cannot have it all
it is a just a moment of ecstasy in your life
like some fireworks
and then it is gone and you do not chase it
because it cannot just be
it is destined to be beyond the permanent hold of your hands
it is like a licking tongue
and then the mouth closes
you like some more
but there is none anymore
and then you go back to your room
not feeling any guilt at all
why? because you had a tryst with yourself and
your dream and your
fantasy and your wild wishes
and then you are
satisfied like a dog taking the bone
with its teeth
back into the safety of its
urinated territory

yes, our own world is our little space.
in fact, this is just what we need.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about Our Little Spaces Called Self... by RIC S. BASTASA

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Saturday, December 24, 2011

Poem Edited: Saturday, December 24, 2011


[Report Error]