Exhaustion Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is now 9 o'clock in the evening
and here i am driving this maroon car
back home alone

on a three-hour lecture one gets
exhausted somehow
i feel the bones clinging
each to each like being held by
some pieces of strings
some may fall away but i held
up to some hope of a cartilage
and muscle and skin
for a wrapping

it is raining hard again
and the night is as dark as ever
the street lamps are off
another blackout happens
as often as this place is
poverty stricken and infested
with political leaders with
nothing in mind but how
to amass more wealth
for themselves and
their kin and relatives

i have always been a teacher
and perhaps will always be
a thinker forever
trying to figure things
how this country may have
a stable name
a stronger sense of
a confident self

plain thoughts,
political theories and some
speculations for economic
possibilities
some questions roaming
and still without any hint
of an answer

i talk to myself again
this country will always be poor
because its leaders are making it so
these people will always be duped
because they remain gullible
this country has nowhere to go
like the boat of the El Filibusterismo
it will simply rotate and collide
with the whirpools of its nighmares
arriving at the ports of nothing

the rain stopped and i am now
at the red gate of an old house
the bushes wantonly growing
stretching their brances
to a dark sky

the gate opens and profuse
light comes out from an
opening

a brown dog comes out
and barks announcing the
arrival of a very tired master

it is I, this political professor
coming out from a worn-out car
and this is my house
infested with worms slowly eating
every part every wood
this house needs another year
for it to finally fall

my wife comes out from
her room and kisses me
and she asks ' how about dinner? '
' i am not hungry, all i need is sleep' i said

with my shoes on
i lay in bed. My eyes close. I like to dream
about God.