88142 Poem by RIC BASTASA

WE'RE NOT THE ELITE

whatever little we have
we give to everyone:

the old man without a cane,
a woman without a face, a seaman without a compass,
a child without a crib,
even to the rich man without a heart
or those who without feet dance with the gods
nymphs without wings
satyrs without their hoofs,
to the dogs without voices
some left-overs,

whatever word we have we sow
even to hostile fields of snow
whatever warmth we have we dissipate
even to rails whose arms are numb to the winds

we are nobody
we have names that do not ring a bell to you
yet we give
we do not store
we spread

we suffer
and in the hope that whatever flies away from us
shall diminish
these pains
we dream of wings
we acquire them
only to be given away
to birds
whose wings
are clipped
by you.