Some Hidden Lines Of The Traveller Who Just Arrived Poem by RIC BASTASA

faraway
no one is talking to you.
you are
shuttered like an open
window

there are leaks
you cover it
with silk cloth

smooth silence
gleaming colors
of gray
like the body of
a catfish

and reddish
bloody
imagination

turn to pink
my blue day

and admire the
transformation of
your thoughts
like a twilight

there is this orange
that smells like
an orange
because it is
orange

you touch it
and peel it and
taste it

juicy existence
palatable life
dripping sweetness
crushed pulps
bursting bits
soft bites

the room changes into
a home
and you lay your head
on the pillow
thinking good about
the ceiling

it is not the harshness
of the wall anymore

there is no obstacle to thoughts
piercing to the
wood and playing with
the light
bulb

things go and become a lively game of
shadows
the lizard and the fly become
one in
that chance
of
predator-prey
relationship

i guess i must have been too personal
that the mirror
fails to relate anymore
to a face
facing it
all day long
waiting for no one

there is no letter somehow
in fact, there is no one inviting
or invited

where am i now? what mistake have i done
to the books?
did i betray the pages
and argue myself with those
ears?

so long. so long.
I've been hiding and the pain of putting my head
inside the bag
that having to breathe so hard
in the sacrifice
of monks and
novices.

i am letting go a part of my index finger
the baby
does not have to notice it
since it is
asleep like a fish inside
the tank of water

figure out then
why am i doing this
writing for nothing else
but selfishness

offering kindness
where it is not needed
actually

i am playing with fire
like an eater
there is no one hurt
in fact
everyone enjoys it
like a show in the circus

my mouth smells like gas
babbling tongue
my soul is burning and i do not want it
put off.