Volcanic Silence Poem by RIC BASTASA

the fact is that
no one reads you.
the persistent fact
is that you are
unstoppable, you keep
on writing still.
most of the hours
are written, not much
is orally said. There
are no friends anyway.
Even in the market
or at the bus station.
the silly silence seeps
into your system.
the fact is that you
are hardheaded. What
do you get in return
for all these writing?
the fact is you keep
it to yourself, and like
a rain you keep on pouring
not knowing that soon
you will be causing a flood
and even a destruction
for those who are not
reading, or not listening
at all.

you are blind now to the
world
your eyes are looking
within you.
everything is confined
and contained.
restraints are
everywhere.

within the breasts of
your women
are migrating birds
singing for themselves
only.

within your heart is
the selfishness that
you have learned.
a seed turning into
a tree with roots
deep, deep into
your lungs, your gut.

the fact is i am
like you. And the fact is
the world is getting
to be like you.
looking within and becoming
too heavy.
the fire within, and this
volcanic silence.