RIC S. BASTASA
BACK TO THE MOUNTAINS
Father bought land. It was cheap, because you have to walk seven rivers, climb eight mountains, and walk another ten kilometers beside the forest where the monkeys keep on teasing passersby with their human appearances.
Father took me once there. We rode a white horse together. It was really exhaustive but upon reaching there you can see the world. You can even touch the sky.
There were horses there. Cows and goats, and fruit trees. It was a plateau with springs of water nearby. The ducks and chickens and pigs roam freely.
we stayed their for a month. I had dandruff because our viand everyday is native chicken. Chicken causes dandruff and i smell like chicken dung.
When father died, he left me that mountain as a secret. I am the only one who knows the way. I promised him that i will not tell my brother and four sisters.
Back to the mountain, like what father did, to have peace, I only have to speak to myself.
The winds at night shall hear me. And in the morning the mists and fog are my comfort. And then the mountains nearby shall be my echoes.
Despite father's cruelty, I still hold him with high esteem. He left me paradise. He
gave me the beauty of mountains, and the silence of the the peaceful nights away from the anxieties of the city and the troubles of the family.
Last night, I touched the sky.
RIC S. BASTASA's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (BACK TO THE MOUNTAINS by RIC S. BASTASA )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Bengal Tiger in Trouble, rohan bendre
- Think Before You Speak, Sandra Feldman
- Gratitude of my mother., Vishal Sharma
- My numb vessals of thoughts, Vishal Sharma
- I Have Decided, Silas Egbowon
- Poets (bilingual), Sandra Feldman
- OUR STREETS شوارعنا, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- The Cure For Winter Blues, Doris Beaulieu
- Tractor Pulls (Poem), Doris Beaulieu
- What It Would Take, David Whalen