Our Situation Poem by RIC BASTASA

as soon as we are thrown
inside the unnumbered room
the door is locked right away
then we cry for the unknown
and for the uncertain we weep
but this will be
only for a very short while
there are temporary hands
warm and soft and sweetly scented
that give us care somehow
like our mothers

and then we are confronted
with chunks of happy moments
peaceful pieces, jumping joys

and some hibernating herbs,
bullying blurbs, berating bricks,
blunted bulks, grating grips,
as accompaniments
so bad for our daily dabs
and then we stop on some moments
of lucidity amidst the madness
we think we know
we rationalize a lot
we want to get out sometimes
but the door is still closed
and even if you force it
or utter the name of all the gods
it still won't compromise
for a peer
it won't obliged to open
even for a second
no glimpse is allowable

we are told to continue with the
journey which is more
inside than outside
we become weak and weary
yet filled with justifications already
aging with wisdom
furrowed fears
hallowing hell

we surrender to the aegis of age
and come up with the idea that
everything has been so fulfilling
we admit whatever comes and
we let go whatever goes away
we comfort ourselves with all
these learned peppered philosophies
saline songs, popcorn poems

and then the door opens again
as you grasp for the last grip
anticipating for what you have not
ever seen before......

(you pass away not having said
those words, i respect that secret)


they say there is so much light
at the end of this timid tunnel
and the future field that we tread once again
is peacefully perfect
the silence so unlike tears.