Dexter Always Remember
try to look at it from a different
perspective
dexter
when your prayers are not granted
it is not because
you do not deserve to be there
it is not because
you are lesser that those who are now
seated in the front
handshaking with greatness
it is simply because
God has barred the door
where you are going to enter
the room of your
perdition
just wait
the right door for you
is yet unfinished
the room there
is suited for you
and for no other
soon, you will understand
but i know for sure
God has always heard you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
273
try to look at it from a different
perspective
dexter
when your prayers are not granted
it is not because
you do not deserve to be there
it is not because
you are lesser that those who are now
seated in the front
handshaking with greatness
it is simply because
God has barred the door
where you are going to enter
the room of your
perdition
just wait
the right door for you
is yet unfinished
the room there
is suited for you
and for no other
soon, you will understand
but i know for sure
God has always heard you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Allegory Of The Cycle Of Doors
and so there is this door that appears before you
and you open it
and then when you enter the room
another door appears
this is the cycle of doors that keep on appearing and you
keep on opening
but the room still appears from a distance
always distant
from your eager feet to enter
you say to enter the room i must please the door
but the room moves away just the same
and the door tells you
to keep the room
you have to burn it and when the room is burned
the door finally disappears
and then both the door and the room shall tell you
now be happy
for you now have a house of your own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Welcome To The Door Of Freedom
this is the door of freedom
you just got in
i have a room beyond this room
no one has entered yet
between this door and my room
is a space
this is where some pieces of my are left
but soon they will be taken back
to be kept inside my palms
to be hidden once again from you
when you get in
you will be introduced to the ritual of knowing
what you do not know
what you cannot know
what shall be hidden forever from you
and you shall be a little bit
disappointed
but you must insist
you have to repeat your name many times
you will sort out the letters
there are onions and chilies
they will make you cry
and then you will wish upon another door
this time it is your door
towards your own room
you will doubt about breathing
about windows and exits
and then you begin to ask
if all these are worth it
you decide.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lady Of The House....
travel has become one form of negligence.
in the house the words are waiting
they become grass
turning into weeds, they grow thorns on their stalks
warning you of a revenge
when you come back the path is barred
you have to cut weeds to enter the door
the door cannot embrace you
it hints you with a door knob to welcome you back
the computers suffer a breakdown
and the fan has become a throttle less the air
you have so many things to tell the room
but the blankets are still covering their ears
your lady who had been waiting impatiently
removes her dress
and you see how wounded are her breasts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In my house
You enter a room to see a park
You close a door only to be led to another stairway
Leading you to another room with nothing but windows
You close a window the rest remains open
You close the windows and another door
In that park in the room where you just entered
Opens
Then you are confused about the roof that opens
To a river to the rocks where another door opens
To a wall with trees and birds and butterflies
This is weird you say, this is really weird
Then from the garage comes a wind that blows
Its horn like a car
I have just arrived offering you an explanation
For all these mess, these uncertainties, these self-made
confusions.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Prayer
in prayer you kneel you make your pleas
you signify
your lowliness in supplication
you behave
like a slave
you mumble you juggle your words
choppy sometimes as you are in deep sorrow
in hunger in thirst
in dire need of comfort
asking wanting that your prayers
be granted
you genuflect to a certain extent
you are crying
you are silent
yet you are so confused and crowded
you need your prayers to be answered
at once
the soonest
you are dying
or someone you love is dying out there
you want to live
you want the other you love to live some years
you want to be together
hence your prayers
some tears fall on the floors now wet and salty
a flood of tears
a rush of a thousand words in supplication
you fall on the floor
face down the earth hands stretching body flat and so tired
i watch you and i pity you and if i were God myself i could have
heard and granted all our prayers
the prayer room is so silent
it is cold tonight and i am too, so confused hearing nothing
outside a storm is raging
the rain so strong like the wind is coming
i close the door and the windows so there may still be silence
so our prayers may be heard
who knows? maybe, maybe, who knows? we must still continue....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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BREAKING THE DOOR OPEN (revised)
on that day when i lost the key
to the room
i waited for some solutions
perhaps i shall break the lock
or smash the door or remove the door jams
or climb on the other side of the house
and enter through the window
but my arms for breaking
are weaker now
my hands tremble at the thought
that once in my childhood
i did climb a wall and break open
the window
and was so badly beaten
that i could hardly stand and walk
back home
i keep on waiting for some solutions
until i realized that anyway
this is not my room of destiny
and there is nothing
in there that is worth my trouble
and so
not being that foolish enough
(or hopeless to say the least)
i simply walked away
with nothing on my shoulder to carry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Maybe Maybe She Remembers Me Again
i imagined her again
that early evening when she over drank her wine
she was bent at nothing
but simply to relax herself a bit
from a broken heart
she was tipsy, she walked towards that room
dimly lighted, she did not close the door
she undressed herself
walked naked and laid herself
on the carpeted floor
which i could see from where i was seated
trying to compose myself
in my own way of recovering from an old wound
she stood again went back to the door to close it
as i did not follow her
she did not smile
neither did she speak a word
but i understood
the following morning she dressed herself
put on her shoes
whistling her way out of the door then closed it
i went back to the usual pretense
i slept
till ten.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why Did God Close That Door?
He closed the door
and touches you but
you do not understand
why.
You silently cry.
He hears it.
You still do not understand
why that door is closed.
Until you find smoke
in the sky
Until you hear about
the dead people
in the room
Now you know why He kept
on closing the door
And here is one that He
opens for you
He says Welcome
This is the home reserved for you
Beloved.
Inside it is a garden
Flowers bloom
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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L8,2212
There is a door which you open
you enter, and then it closes you
behind you
forever,
there is no force here,
but only volition,
you enter it
with all the warnings,
that the
possibility that it will close forever
has been told to you
over and over
again,
somehow, you do not make it a problem
you like a closed door, and you hate it
when it opens,
you love it when it is closed forever,
the room is nice
there is a certain loveliness
in there,
it has shiny floors,
it has a bright ceiling,
the lights are lovely,
like stars
in an open dark sky
the air is fresh,
the walls are comfortable
who wants to take an exit?
no one.not you.
when the door knows this, it will open
forever,
it decides to open for you
and it will tell you to go out and be
an outsider again and
be gone
for good,
you insist that you own this room now,
that a closed door is not a serious matter
and there is no way that you have to
go out
or be ousted,
the door has a stair with strong hands
and it will drag you out
it will pull your hair and drag your body
like hell
the door has learned its lesson
when the room is not a prison to someone else
there is no use keeping him there forever
for in truth the reason of the door's
existence
is to make you feel the prison and to suffer
and you know your lesson too well
there is no prison to a mind that is an open window
there is no suffering
to a lover of suffering
you see, it takes a little reverse psychology
for closed doors to open
for men to know that suffering is not suffering
at all
when one loves is tripping
when one thinks
otherwise
when one loves whatever happens
when one accepts
the one that is there and not look for something
that is always missing
why go for the unreachable?
why suffer for long?
life is life, and death is death
you are here, grab this here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oh where is heavens door?
Where do we mortals find that narrow heavenly Door?
Through which millions of people have entered before?
It is found at the cross of Jesus The Crucified
where He paid for our sins and laid down His life and died.
With His arms outstretched so wide and saying, 'Come to me'
there we find forgiveness by His death at Calvary.
Then we see the Door before us swing open so wide
allowing us to pass through the veil to heavens side.
Calvary's cross is the Door through which we can go through.
There is no other entrance only this door will do.
For He is the Way by which we must enter heaven
It is at the cross we must come to be forgiven.
Then as we look behind us on the lintel we see
'Chosen before the foundation of the world in Me.'
Though millions have come yet there is still room for more
God by His Grace has allowed us to go through the Door.
So come to that Door for it is opened wide for you
and taste the glories of heaven as you enter through.
The cry goes out 'whosoever will may enter in'
it is at the Cross where your journey has to begin.
All who enter the door shall be safely kept inside
and there forever with the Lord Jesus they shall abide.
Each one was chosen by God before the world began
Included by His grace as part of salvations plan.
Written after reading John 10: 7-10
A little Ghost Story
As I was going to bed
I turned out my light
tucked myself in
on a long winter's night
All of a sudden
I heard a door squeak
I thought someone was in my house
so I decided to take a peak
I heard the wind blow hard
and started to shiver with fear
and heard some noises again
but this time I knew I was near
I went into the living room
and noticed my door was opened wide
squeaking back and forth
I laughed so hard I almost cried
So I decided to go back up to my room
When I heard some terrible cries
I rushed to my room real quick
but a ghost stopped me in surprise
I ran and yelled
and I ran outside my house right then
and decided I would never
go back to that house again
At my new house
I turned out the light
you can probably guess
what went on that night
poem by Shaina Lloyd
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Today... 'The Door
Where do we mortals find that narrow heavenly Door?
Through which millions of sinners have entered before?
It is found at the cross where Jesus was crucified
There for You paid for our sins, laid down Your life and died
With Your arms outstretched so wide and saying, 'Come to me'
For we find forgiveness by Your death at Calvary
And we see the Door before us swinging open wide
Allowing us to pass through the veil to heavens side
At the cross the veil in the temple was rent in two
We can still hear You calling sinners to come to You
For the door into heaven has been flung open wide
'Come to me you weary, ' we hear as we go inside
Calvary's cross is the Door through which man can go through
And there is no other way only this door will do
For You are the Way by which we must enter heaven
It is at the cross we must come to be forgiven
Then as we look behind us on the lintel we see
'Chosen before the foundation of the world in Me'
Though millions have come yet there is still room for more
God by His Grace has allowed us to enter the Door
So come to that Door for it is opened wide for you
And taste the glories of heaven as you enter through
The cry goes out 'whosoever will may enter in'
It is at the Cross where your journey has to begin
All who enter the door shall be safely kept inside
There forever with the Lord Jesus they all shall abide
Each one was chosen by God before the world began
Included by His grace as part of salvations plan
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
I Guess
i guess today when you arrive
you enter the room so tired you lock the room
and switch on
and switch off the light
you sleep
and tell the world for once
you have nothing to do with it
until the next day
when it rains heavily on your roof
and the water rises
and you ask it where is the door for your next escape
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Friends?
i am extending my hand
like a door knob of my door
you are here just in front of me
where i am seated
with a rose in my mouth
please open the door
and please take my red rose
with your lips
do not speak any word
let me feast upon your face
your body, your soul
it has been a long time
and my world stopped turning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In That Common Room Where You Are No Longer Alone
your eyes are open
as you are fully alive when you go
back to that old house
by the river
named after
sin,
you open the door
your hands are too willing
and you enter
a dusty room
where you shall be alone
for a while
you smell sin there
and you
get to know it better
beyond its name and
place of origin
you identify with it
and there is no fear now
you talk for a while
and then
it urges you to go naked
and close your eyes
to enter upon
a world where everyone is
welcome
you drink and dance and
become tipsy
lights begin to play
and shouts of joy are heard
in this totally
transformed world
you are not alone now
in this indulgence
you have become counted
without
any hesitation
your mind explodes into
four seasons
compressed in time
and the guarantee of
total satisfaction is handed to you
like a key to
your permanent room
since then
you are so alive
and death has become
too irrelevant
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In My Room
I stand alone and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
And in the room locked up inside me
The cutout magazines remind me
I sit and wait alone in my room
And in my room against the wall
There is picture very small
A photograph I took some years ago
It shows a picture of the room I know
I sit and wait alone in my room
Chorus
The walls are white and in the night
The room is lit by electric light
I stand and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
The doors are shut and all the windows lock
The only sound is from the clock
I sit and wait alone in my room
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Room
I stand alone and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
And in the room locked up inside me
The cutout magazines remind me
I sit and wait alone in my room
And in my room against the wall
There is picture very small
A photograph I took some years ago
It shows a picture of the room I know
I sit and wait alone in my room
Chorus
The walls are white and in the night
The room is lit by electric light
I stand and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
The doors are shut and all the windows lock
The only sound is from the clock
I sit and wait alone in my room
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eloise
Milky-Way,
Especially of the tribe next door;
But incomprehensive to your room is,
The sweet muse of love to your nakedness.
Eloise is ready to listen to me and,
I do have the works of love to share like 'Formula-1';
And of things to negotiate with you as well.
The door of my love is next to you,
So be very wise always to enter into it;
With pluckable and pleasurable things to share.
My love's window is open as well,
And it is with the gift of one's pleasure;
But i am the commissioner of love to lead you on.
The Milky-Way and it's molten sensations!
And of the love you are looking for;
But try to be very wise to enter the door of this love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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THIS THING called discrimination
it is when you walk together
with someone you barely know
towards a place
where there is a door still closed
to open at 9 a.m.
and both of you wait
for the right hour
and then the right hour comes
and a strict lady opens the door
carries a folder and calls out a name
just her name
and she smiles at her
and she smiles at her too
and then she lets her in and
she looks at you
without any civility
and she closes the door and
you do not see anymore
what is going inside the room
something so private
the door tells you that
you feel the pain
and yet you are not leaving still
i am telling you
you're the craziest Asian that i have ever known
in this whole cruel white world.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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