Our Fragile Selves Poem by RIC BASTASA

people always
do not know the real us

we are always this
stuff inside
gold-plated and
on elaborate
inamoratas

people theorizes us
like some political guesses

revolutions that do not
materialize
peace that always trembles
on false alarms

we invoke the law of
our privacy
our intimate parts remain
hidden
in our fragile underwear

people do not know us
we have always been fearless and free

they sleep on their silly
speculations and we greet them with
smileys on the road

in the room i lean on a leather chair
rest my chin on my hand
and read the world from afar