White Hair, Gnarled Flesh, Dirty Fingernails, Poem by RIC BASTASA

it was a wrong beginning
it starts with a thing you like but you cannot have
and so you begin with a lie inorder to survive
and you are confident
at the end they will always understand and then forgive you.

you are not afraid of wrong beginnings
since there are so many of them to begin with
there is fear somehow at the middle
before the discovery until such time that time like any fruit
too becomes ripe

and juicy and as usual falls to the ground as a matter of
necessity
something that no one can prevent
not even your hands that know how to catch a lie and hide it
like a butterfly

and so the end comes and so many eyes come out
to look at you
as though you are a stranger from a faraway land

white hair, gnarled flesh, dirty fingernails,
wilted lips, bent bones, and unable to say anything
dying as you have to admit
who has the courage to curse you?
or tell you that you owe them an answer
but as they look at you
they have to admit, there is no need anymore.