You Are Not God..... Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is this spontaneity that governs it.
you sit and then begin the task, as though you
are talking to yourself, and then you write what
is in your mind, and then everything flows like
a flooding river carrying everything, leaves, debris,
driftwood, even frogs and snakes and even stone, and
those who see it even believe that stones have six lives
and they keep on moving from one place to another just
like wild cats.
it is this journey of the mind that makes life exciting,
the imagination that makes us believe more in the existence
of this soul within your body which you had taken for granted
for a number of years.
you do not intend to go to a place and then after you have
reached there you plan to go back and take note of the details
which you missed: the crow on the mahogany tree, the white horse
in the field of morning glories, the hillside filled with
poinsettias, the tip of the mountain with a crown of cirrus
clouds, the shoreline with all the bubbling foams,
the dilapidated nipa hut abandoned by the rebel couple,
the little boy who was buried by the soldiers, collateral damage,
the only son of the judge who sided with the terrorists,
the judge who would be mourning forever asking where did she miss
what should have been inculcated in his mind.
you go and then you have no plans going back, no need to correct
lapses, whatever was erroneous, you let it be, it is not your
job to explain, to repay, to put things back again.

you are dying and they understand.
whatever was written is written.
and you are not God.