A Disability Inside A Rustic Room... Poem by RIC BASTASA

someone writes about
a rebellion, a struggle of a set of native still not free
even in this age of
a shrinking world
where everything seems to be a text away
or that distance
which curls and tells you
they are all there and happy in green
and white
hands in prayer and minds in peace
and mouths speaking about abundance and wellness
and paradise thriving in skyscrapers
and parks

someone writes about the death of civilians under
oppressive regimes
brought about by leaders who refuse to step down
or someone exposes the trafficking of women somewhere in southeast Asia
and brought in bulgaria or
a black island

someone writes about a strike of workers whose wages are
below survival
about the hardships of exploited laborers
while their employers are enjoying so much of the profits
wasting it in the beaches of
Thailand and
the shopping malls of Singapore

i could have been that someone
but i am here stacked in the haystacks of my own silly dreams
stuffed like a bear
and dressed in black robe
hammering my days like
a metal smith
sweating it out beside a big fire
but still unable to decide what shape to make out of this metal
what sharpness is needed
in this sword without a
luster.