Wailings Poem by RIC BASTASA

there are so many things that attract us
when we are alone our skin begins to nibble
we try not to be noticed, some taboos still exist
things that we think can do more harm to our hair
they had been falling like shreds of light on sunsets
when we speak we do not really pay attention to words
our eyes look beyond the garden fusing with a horizon
that marks a line between the past and present
sometimes i keep looking for the future like something
that i do not really believe that it exists
sexists, so many of them around us but we always miss
its real definition, we grapple for what we think is reality
you hint that it must not be something destructive as
unwanted fire in the other side of the room other than the kitchen
that it must be as smooth as the edge of a happy thought
as constructive as a plane that is so sharp cutting some
rough edges of the unwanted wood for the cabinet
somehow i like to write in-order to mislead you
guessing that this is the only thing that may give birth
to an interest in life, to drive you away from a disaster of sleep,
to make you skip the harsh trees along the road that draw mishaps
people do love what they fail to understand
equating it with mystery, with the selves that they want to delete
not knowing that it cannot be, because it simply can't be.

a stone no matter how extraordinary at the end
becomes the best sculpture carried by the soldiers of the emperor
to become the centerpiece of the empress' garden.