<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=487662" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Externals....</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">outside i hear murmurs<br>of children, shouts of mature men<br>calling their women, <br>sweeping the yard of dry leaves<br>from trees of last night's<br>storms</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i hear screeching sounds of<br>cars heading to the city<br>rushing<br>as though they are always<br>late for<br>appointments</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the school bus carries the<br>teeming sounds of<br>kindergarten kids whose mothers<br>keep on saying<br>God bless you all and i</div><div style="margin:10px 0">who is supposed to be at work<br>in my cubicle<br>just a stone throw away from<br>where i am seated<br>still keeps on tracking voices<br>that cover the inner voice<br>of my longings</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is frail and fading<br>and humming and still wanting<br>to conceal the true notes<br>of its song</div><div style="margin:10px 0">e.e. Cummings, it says, <br>it wants, the rhythm<br>of comings, but i must have been<br>in the wrong direction<br>for a long while now<br>i have always focused on the<br>ambulant sounds<br>of departures<br>loud and deep at first<br>and then<br>fading and thin<br>like a needle finally<br>dropping on the<br>hay floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=487662" data-title="Externals.... de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="outside i hear murmurs of children, shouts of mature men calling their women, sweeping the yard of dry leaves from trees of last night's storms i hear screeching sounds of cars heading to the city rushing as though they are always late for appoi..."></div> </div> </div>

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