When We Go To The Mountains Poem by RIC BASTASA

when we go to the mountains
we always feel the ease of our pains
the lessening of our burdens
the loosening of the ties
that bind our necks
and choke our throats

we shall be at the foot
of the hills and feel the rivers running under our feet
we feel we do not need
the buffers of slippers
our skins missing the touch of freshness
the massaging of the stones
the tickling of our nerves

the green grasses spreading on the plains
the cows grazing
the eagles soaring high above us
the goats smelling us like aliens
the water buffaloes sniffing
our city sweats

the natives dance an ethnic number
some roasted pigs
and yams and brown rice

we speak of the wilderness
the silence and the peace
and the mountains are still
listening to our stories: lost souls, destroyed habitats,
the rape of nature
the murder of innocence
the robbery of everything that used to be beautiful

pure and simple