The Quivers Of The Heart.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

THESE ARE our quivers, we have arrived at a dead end, and we face walls,
we look for the outline of a door and then a window
there is no sketch of a rectangle
or square
or a hole
we are praying for a leak of light to this dark room
existence
they say the sun does not shine anymore
the flowers are shy
and kept themselves locked in the tightness of their buds
these are the quivers of our imagined endings
our hands are shaking
the world is suffering to an earthquake of
values shattered

we like to speak only when we are far away from each other
our display of affection is well demonstrated by our constant hiding
we have devolved into shadows
and invoking words cannot take the substitute of the flesh

i am a stranger now arriving at a new place where people do not know
me.

as i speak, they continue looking outside, waiting for the right train.

i sit on a chair behind them. I sip my coffee. I pay for what i eat and drink.

i am lost, but this is what i want. I too, look outside, waiting for the right hour to arrive.

these are our quivers. We have no exact hold. Our hands are blistered with so much heat from inside our guts.

temper stored. anger contained. sorrow concealed.

one day, i shall write the poem about an annihilation of us.
when you read it, and that is the right hour, i am already gone.

nowhere. where is it? i also do not know.