51372 Poem by RIC BASTASA

many people who died
old,
have suggested to us
how life should have
been lived

'i should not have worked
so hard
i should have lived a life
i desired
i should have confessed
my true love
to my true object of
my affection
i should have taken
the risk
i should have expressed
my truest feelings'

then he died.

and we,
and i, who heard all these in
a whisper
wanted to hear some more

what ought to be
what should have been
what could have been

i could have been happier
but it does not matter anymore
i am left here to live

my own style, my own recipe,
my own cooking
my own taste,

and even if i die, it will remain
definitely
not for mass consumption.

i live this life, honestly or dishonestly,
what matters most is i live

and i shall not make any whispers
even in my deathbed.