RIC S. BASTASA
my hands are always small
enough to cover
a weeping face, my body too frail
to stay at the corner of one
hospital where one by one
the friends of friends are dying...
my heart too tiny for grief,
the universe is grief, and the stars are too small to appease the tears of rain...
my feet are always not enough
for the thorns
my brain is a tiny speck of dust
to the howling storm of misunderstanding
i wish i had enough space to scatter whatever i have
till i am finished with this
struggle for emptiness...
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