This Is Art, This Is Love, This Is Desire... Poem by RIC BASTASA

there is no race
and there is nothing to chase
nothing to work for
nothing to cope up
it is this love for art
itself that pleases
that works for itself
the colors blend
the shapes shaping
you look at this canvass
this sheet
and you begin to fill each
with love and
candor
desire which has become
insatiable
there is no ambition
nothing to please for
the stars above the trees
the skies and seas
wings of birds and fins of fishes
man's hair, woman's breasts
fragile hands of children
horses fast the meadows
cows grazing on the grasses
on plains and valleys
where is the race? who is being chased?
no one. This is art, This is love.
Desire always insatiable.

who is tired? the dancers never
raise an arm.
The painters never say a word.
The poets keep the words
which tomorrow may, if it loves to,
may utter.