Those Cruel Days Of Our Youth Poem by RIC BASTASA

when we were children
when father beats us
thinking that we become
angels when thoroughly beaten
and prides stepped upon
we never really screamed
neither did i remember that
we went through an extreme
silence for a long time
as two or three hours
since you must perhaps
recall that we easily forgot
the hurt and when father was gone
looking for money
we rose again from where we lurked
and start to run into the
playgrounds of our house
and the neighborhood
reunited with friends who
climbed trees swim in rivers
dove those cliffs splashing into
deep seas bluer than clouds
like slippery fish with
scales as hard as turtles
sooner did we realize that
we carry the house of happiness
on our backs like knapsacks
ready, always ready to go
somewhere else where we
cannot be hurt where our prides
are never never stepped upon

and father was proud and
then he died.