The Nonsensical Poem by RIC BASTASA

IT IS 11: 46 p.m. Philippine time,
i wake up feeling so congested,
messy, perhaps it is all about the dream
i just had,
climbing a very steep mountain
to take something
that i have forgotten
and then i go down
only to remember
which way, whichever
the feeling of being exhausted
so unlike the washing machine
or the egg beater
and the blender
all mechanical without complaint
of being overused by its
master
so unlike me, oh, here i am again
complaining about my
existence, the worm that waits
smiles
wanting to get even with me
there is something wrong i know
in this monosyllabic monologue of the heart
empty like a soccer field after the game
one shadow left
still looking for the ball
the noise fading in the horizon
light is taken back
yet the sigh is still insisting
that something is left
like a coin or a cigarette butt
nonsense
he strikes back, stupid foolish
sigh, and arms
emptied of content like a
soft drink bottle
left out waiting for the garbage collector
to pick it up
nonsense, now i must say
waste of time
loveless still.