The Nihilist Poem by RIC BASTASA

today i am reflecting on
that usual human trait that he must
be treated as special
someone important
as though the world dies
without him
as though everything alive
or moving stops
when he does not participate
in the process
of living

only to realize that this world
is inanimate
it does not care because it cannot care
it has no feelings at all

how can a road feel your feet?
how can those railings feel your hands?
how can the sun feel that you are having fever?

this is but realistic
man/woman you are not the center of this universe
you have invented the soul
you have taken pride in your imagination
your calculations and measure
your literature and
love and hate and romance and celebrations

what have you now?
that humiliation because even if you die or suffer for years
the world still continues its
daily routine of spinning and revolving
of making days and nights
of making waves and ice
and blowing sands and
flooding cities

at the last moment
before the end of the hours
when all your eyes close
when they say you die and live again
somewhere
come back please and tell me
that what i am telling is not
true.