A Poetic Testimony.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

IN MY life i am making poems
numbering in thousands and those who read them
must have felt that i sound like a machine gun to an enemy
it is funny
but it is not intended to be that way

THERE is a wounded snake if you have seen it
if you have once lived in the forest
looking for the herbal cure for its wounds
near the center of its heart

IT IS not only a question of love, but also of hate,
not only life but also of death
not just death but the series of deaths that one experiences
with humanity
Those that love to hate, to injure, to inflict pain
and those that receive this pain, those that taste their wars
those that witness the dying, the dead
those that listen to the unexpected fires and explosions
those that are part of the shattered and the shatters

ONE WORLD
in the nooks of poetry.

Pity and Piety
The Pieta and the Sunless Sea
Clouds of Van Gogh
Guns of the Piedra
ALL THESE
In the hues of the lights of sunsets and sunrises
trying to be captured in the lenses of mere words.

Just listen, watch, just be a spectator
Do not say any word.

Savor.Do not complain.
If bad, just spit it out. Go, go, go.