What Truths Are? Poem by RIC BASTASA

in trying to find them
the paradox is
they keep on concealing themselves

in shapes you least expect it:
you turn into a clown
to let them be children and
with their smiles
you find how innocent
truths are

but as you grow older
you get numb and you become less interested
and they too get worried about this dryness
this aridity
this stoicism
they pinch you and you do not mind at all
you pretend you are not hurt
there is no visible grimace on your face

then day by day
they keep on opening themselves like wounds
begging for a cure
but you get no medicine at all
in this familiarity
this contempt for them

you have already said yes
to everything

they come they go and you do not waive your hands anymore
they arrive and shake your hands
you are no longer excited
they are not invited guests

your eyes do not speak about who they are
what are their names
their roots their origins

now, they want to befriend you
what for? you ask them
you have already caused me all the pains
you promised to set me free

look! i am faceless
look at me! is this what you are all about?
the truth is
we get tired we only want to rest we do not need them much
too much of them is poison
and no one wants
no one wishes to die as such