That Sadness In Your State Poem by RIC BASTASA

an autobiography appears life a blurred picture
you are lost in the tracks of the past
greatness is never spotted
because you have considered each as a mere folder
another item, just like any other number that slides from your fingers
then something bites you
the pain makes you jerk, and you begin to watch carefully the tip of
your thumb,
this hurts, who is this? who are you?
and you know the person well,
the one that hurt you makes you remember a name
the face sticks in your brain
somehow, you remember, he is the greater one which you did not mind
and now you claim
we were together in that same school of thought
and i believe you,

why do you have to be like that? when there is no scream there is no one.
when you do not hear the jump into the storm from the ship of prolonged
blot of dark blue color, or that scarlet of bloody discrimination
from the rest of the oppressing humanity
then
that is the only time that you begin to mind
that there is someone out there and he is calling for help

why do you think of help only when you are dying yourself?
why do you begin to think of caring when you are hurt yourself?

you only feel, when the pain starts to take its house in you.