The Mother And The Little Child Poem by RIC BASTASA

there is a feeling sometimes that there are two of us
in one room,
when one talks one hears an echo
but there is no surprise

this happens most of the time
one must stand corrected

there is a war being waged
the other one is dominant and calls the other stupid
who after all does not listen
and simply does what is felt what is wanted what is needed for
the time being

there is a wolf there and there is an white lamb
there is a witch and there is a trusting traveler of a child

one feels that this is just a cottage and lodging thing
something that you can stay for the night and then leave early morning
tomorrow and then
shrug your shoulder and forget what happened
on that dark night

when one cannot believe it and hence simply thinks that
it is just a dream
or even call it a dismissible nightmare
something that is inevitable

and as one pinches his arm
that thing
that horrible thing is simply forgotten

one goes on a usual journey
taking with him two shattered faces within him
the dominant one keeps talking and talking
like a nagging mother
and just the same that little child inside you keeps its games
not minding everything.

For as long as the toy is in the hands
and for as long as it is not too dark to stop playing

'who cares? ' that is what is being muttered.