Everyday I Feel That I Am Slowly Buried
i try to wake up and rise from my lowly state
and every hour that you face me i feel like a small turtle
in my silence beside the still river and you speak and explain
and argue like the wind and the leaves and the clouds
everyday when i am with you i feel like am being buried everyday
layer and layer of sand and pebbles and stones and twigs
and branches and heaps of leaves
i am losing my art of breathing and i am beginning to accept the fact
that you have the capacity to lose me
the world shrinks and the river becomes deeper
the view around me is crowded and dark and i look for you
i call for you and you are no longer there
sometimes i need to redefine love when companionship loses the grip
of hands.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Meanings...
scattered
practically (hmm probably)
thoughts are
like dry, yellow, leaves
already unsure
from which twig did it
come from
no one asks about
the history of a leaf
no one
there are too many of them
meant either to be
blown away, buried upon their
own kind,
layer upon layer,
rotting upon one another
or simply just to be burned
heaps of them
turning into smoke
phantoms against
the rains of
dark skies
we are leaves
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Seeing a Clearer Me
layer by layer
i peel so that
like a glass
you can view me
crystal clear as a virgin river
a polished diamond
decades of
practice for those
seasoned fingers
to strike at her core
to bring out those few
beethoven scores
he tuned up the world for
a great watch maker
filing his cog to tighten time
the precision of mind
to keep a universal lie at bay
verse by verse
layer by layer
i peel to get to
the sheen the almighty
laid hidden in me
layer by layer
i peel off the world
to see a clearer me
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Faces and layers of faces
At first, this is the face I will show you
Shallow, thin, smooth
Then we feel each other, like some kind of
New found friends, I
Take another layer, and tell you, this is my face,
Some scars, and lines of age, and furrows,
Then we write many emails, and remember
Common things, like a certain familiarity,
Another layer is taken and exposed,
The face of a sick man, with some
Disappointments in his mind,
Some wounds, wrinkles, and so you
Think, are there other layers of faces still
To show,
Deeper, deeper is there another layer to show
Another face of this man?
Yes, there is another layer, more faces
Hidden underneath each layer,
As we go on, learning from ourselves,
And me learning from myself,
I will be digging for more faces,
Because I am never static
I am growing, and for each growth
Like molting
Another face comes out
Soon, I hope, I must come out
With the most beautiful face
The we can be both proud of,
It is just a matter of time
Depending on how well you have loved me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thirteen
At first, this is the face I will show you
Shallow, thin, smooth
Then we feel each other, like some kind of
New found friends, I
Take another layer, and tell you, this is my face,
Some scars, and lines of age, and furrows,
Then we write many emails, and remember
Common things, like a certain familiarity,
Another layer is taken and exposed,
The face of a sick man, with some
Disappointments in his mind,
Some wounds, wrinkles, and so you
Think, are there other layers of faces still
To show,
Deeper, deeper is there another layer to show
Another face of this man?
Yes, there is another layer, more faces
Hidden underneath each layer,
As we go on, learning from ourselves,
And me learning from myself,
I will be digging for more faces,
Because I am never static
I am growing, and for each growth
Like molting
Another face comes out
Soon, I hope, I must come out
With the most beautiful face
The we can be both proud of,
It is just a matter of time
Depending on how well you have loved me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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84
my silence shall be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Silence Shall Be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A New Definition Of What Is Poetry
now i think i know
what poetry is
it is
everyday
it is not
a form
but a thought
it is beyond thoughts
even
it is a stream
of emotions
and there is a boat
that sails beneath them
there is no rudder
neither sail
there are only hands
that feel
the cascading waters
feet that dangle on the
river
straining the coldness
of the eddies
there is the peace
of the sky
there is the freedom
of the drifting
of the clouds
it is foremost
a dedication and hence
it is as i am telling you
and everyday
affair
here
is the ordinariness of poetry
that most men
do not take seriously
that the world
cannot really believe
thinking that this is talent
and tact
no,
it is everyday
it is defecation
it is breathing
it is strolling
it is eating breakfast
and smoking at the park
it is sleeping and running
and holding hands
it is everyday
it is everything
it is not peculiar
or extraordinary
this is my
poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Golden Boat
Clouds rumbling in the sky; teeming rain.
I sit on the river bank, sad and alone.
The sheaves lie gathered, harvest has ended,
The river is swollen and fierce in its flow.
As we cut the paddy it started to rain.
One small paddy-field, no one but me -
Flood-waters twisting and swirling everywhere.
Trees on the far bank; smear shadows like ink
On a village painted on deep morning grey.
On this side a paddy-field, no one but me.
Who is this, steering close to the shore
Singing? I feel that she is someone I know.
The sails are filled wide, she gazes ahead,
Waves break helplessly against the boat each side.
I watch and feel I have seen her face before.
Oh to what foreign land do you sail?
Come to the bank and moor your boat for a while.
Go where you want to, give where you care to,
But come to the bank a moment, show your smile -
Take away my golden paddy when you sail.
Take it, take as much as you can load.
Is there more? No, none, I have put it aboard.
My intense labour here by the river -
I have parted with it all, layer upon layer;
Now take me as well, be kind, take me aboard.
No room, no room, the boat is too small.
Loaded with my gold paddy, the boat is full.
Across the rain-sky clouds heave to and fro,
On the bare river-bank, I remain alone -
What had has gone: the golden boat took all.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Conceit and Deceit
what i have in my hands
are only stones
if you search for more
pebbles
my mind can give you
but first
you must entice me
with a flower in your hand
for you to have stones
that soon will grow you
some leaves of sand
that soon shall show you
how pebbles can be flowers
too
what you have are only
flowers
a little bit lighter than
the twigs of their source
what i have in my hands
are pebble that give us weight
yes, weight is wisdom
and they are all stones
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sprouting As A Phoenix By Em
does no less than denude its object of the one thing which he has which is of value, and so it degrades him effectively.'
subjectify me?
where?
it is only through our
communion
that you make me a
subject
when you go away again
you may think
that i have become a stone
you are wrong
you have already subjectified me as a
bird with eight wings
did you not see it in the navel of my body?
did you not smell it on the scent of my armpits?
when you were inside me did you not feel that i am someone so different
than before
when you only caressed my hair and kissed my neck
and licked my butt?
lover, do not underestimate my being
for i am being and you are being
in fact
i am more free than what you are
to your pebbles i am the river
to your twigs i am the leaves
to your clouds i am now the winds of chances
i now own the world
inside my mouth
and my tongue knows how to play your games
i am now a goddess transformed by your love
from the mud that i used to be
it is enough then
as you leave to your world where your heart belongs
i have already sprouted as a
Phoenix.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Holidays In Eden
(music: marillion lyrics: john helmer)
Did you ever feel that just by jumping on a plane
All your cares would drop away and youd be born again
Returning to a nature child happy wild and free
But forgetfulness is a river and you know where the river leads
Holidays in eden
Life before the fall
See no, hear no, speak no evil
Feel no guilt, feel no guilt at all
Naked through the jungle, mud between your toes
Following the river, where the river flows
The creatures of the forest bid you welcome to the dark
Nothing here can hurt you, darkness has no heart
Holidays in eden
Paradise regained
See no, hear no, speak no evil
Throw your past away
You wake up one morning, wondering who you are
Theres a map of new country up on the wall
All your new lovers merge into one
Youve done everything under the sun
Theres a date on the air ticket
And the moneys gone
Back in your own country
Nothing seems the same
No one comes around at night
Or uses your new name
Hearing silent whispers
Old friends are acting strange
No one wants to know you now
People say youve changed
Holidays in eden
Life before the fall
See no, hear no, speak no evil
Feel no guilt at all
Holidays in eden
Paradise and light
Heaven loses you to this world
Leaves you alone
Kiss your home goodbye
(she says shes lonely)
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Losing me
Why do I feel like I am losing me..
Everyday I lose apart of me............ I forget what I used to be....
All I see is you...... Why I am losing me? Why am I losing me............
I don't want to feel this way... I dont want to feel like thi s........
A piece of me is fading, running to your land.......... Always wondering if your here?
All I see is you, and I am disappearing....... I know I am alive, when I sit down and cry........ Is this love or is this a lie......... Loving you do I have to lose part of me?
I am lost dont want to feel this way............. When I look in the mirror, I dont know who I see............. I just dont remember me...............
All I see is you...... Why I am losing me? Why am I losing me............
poem by Sita Cabrera
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Blossom
Lights, they wash your face
Pale and misty white
Color flowers
Your eyes seem ever changing
In my mind
Colors bleed to red
As I kiss your face
Want to tell you
I love you
Everyday as we grow
Yes I know now its all on my own
Can you feel my pain
As you walk on by
Can you tell me you need me
Everytime,
All alone
Yes Ill show you things never seen before
For your mind to untangle
On your own, all alone
Yes I know now
Yes I know now
Its all on my own
Yes I know now
Ill watch as you go
Yes I know now
Its alright
And I know now
Yes I know now
Its all on my own
As you blossom everyday
Yes I know now
Yes I know now
Its all on my own
As you blossom everyday
I dont feel my heart
Its burning up
I dont fear my eyes are turning red
I dont feel my arms are breaking up
I dont feel you slipping from my hands
And I know now
Yes I know now
Its all on my own
As you blossom everyday
Yes I know now
Its all on my own
As you blossom everyday
Now I know
Yes I know now
Its all on my own
As you blossom everyday
song performed by by Candlebox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rivers of Love
River, river flow through all
Enlighten with all your divine goodness
Let us all feel your precious river
Flowing through our veins
Even in our deepest hour
Enlighten all burdens
Let all call and feel the wonders of wonders
Through the warmth of your love
To really feel, and to know you never refuse
Oh how gracious you are
When in the stillness of all silence
Beauty, rejoicing enlighten all
Oh river of love nothing can compare
poem by Gloria Froystadvag
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The Poems Flutter
Along each river in thousands are the ditches,
And the dungeons that conceals the objects,
Thousands of things hidden to the human eyes.
Man in fact is a brimming river wide and deep,
Thousands of ditches hide secrets countless;
As pebbles, sand, stones dwell in the bottom,
Covered with the opaque oozy settling layers.
I bring out those pebbles, sand and stones,
To construct, erect the castle with thick walls,
Where nestle themselves poems mysterious,
And often flutter; flap there from one by one.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Buried Alive By Love
Again the burden of losing
Rests upon my shoulders
And its weight seems unbearable
Your tomb is where your heart is,
I should have told her
But within me hid a secret so terrible
To cry is to know that you're alive
But my river of tears has run dry
I never wanted to fool you, no
But a cold heart is a dead heart
And it feels like Ive been buried alive by love
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile
The kiss of vanity you blessed me with, spiritual woman,
Face the gods of war insatiable
Your home is where the dark is, I should have told her
Embrace the fire indestructible
To die is to know that you're alive
And my river of blood won't run dry
I never wanted to lose you, no
But a cold heart is a dead heart
And it feels like Ive been buried alive by love
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
rescue me with your smile
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile
And they say to cry is to know that you're alive
But my river of tears has run dry
I never wanted to fool you, no
But a cold heart is a dead heart
And a deserted soul is gone
A cold heart is a dead heart
And it feels like Ive been buried alive by love
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile,
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile
I've been buried alive by love
Ive been buried alive by love
Buried alive by love
I've been buried alive by love
I've been buried alive by love
I've been buried alive by love
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everyday Is Like Sunday
Trudging slowly over wet sand
Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen
This is the coastal town
That they forgot to close down
Armageddon - come armageddon!
Come, armageddon! come!
Everyday is like sunday
Everyday is silent and grey
Hide on the promenade
Etch a postcard :
How I dearly wish I was not here
In the seaside town
...that they forgot to bomb
Come, come, come - nuclear bomb
Everyday is like sunday
Everyday is silent and grey
Trudging back over pebbles and sand
And a strange dust lands on your hands
(and on your face...)
(on your face ...)
(on your face ...)
(on your face ...)
Everyday is like sunday
Win yourself a cheap tray
Share some greased tea with me
Everyday is silent and grey
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Layers Of My Existence
peel me, not like an onion where you shall cry for every
layer, no, i do not require tears here, at most, you may need
only to smile, and then be so patient, as you peel me
layer by layer, as i watch, and as you carefully peel me
with your bare hands, i will allow it, all for you and your
curiousity,
you discover the erotic layer
and in there exists the desire
for an adventure, the disregarding
of sin, and then peel me further
move on,
find the layer of my
intellect, you shall find what i have
told you all about, my nerves and
common sense, my strivings to go
deeper towards my self, and then
peel me further, you see the bone
of my contentions, my hardened
principles and uncompromises
then peel me further, find the
marrow that makes all the blood
of my life, my sorrows and pains,
my exhilarations and bliss and
joys and happiness, and you will
say there is nothing more to find.
you are wrong. There is this last
peel that you cannot see. It is like
air, and it floats and it gets in,
it always finds an empty space,
and you cannot find it there anymore,
it is now inside you and you cannot
get that out of your system
you must accept this:
i have become
an essential part of you, and there is
nothing now that you can do.
you see, in peeling me, you find
no exit anymore. Whether you
you will be happy or sad, it is
already beyond my control.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When we reach the mountaintop
3000 steps up
we climb
we take the rope
beside a cliff
we keep our feet secure
we keep our grip strong
climbing this trail
toward the mountaintop
when we reach there
both of us
we see the whole city
cars running like ants
on its belly
people walking like
small worms
the sun like a bulb
the trees like some
feathers and the
other mountains
bald like brownies
the sea is so blue
from far
the horizon bold
like a departure
the boats sail away
to another island
the plane on a
touchdown on the
cemented pavement
near the shore
some green palms
on the river
look like leaves
of grass
some clouds we touch
cold to our hands
3000 steps up
one hour up to the sky
just to feel
this loneliness
we see what we want to see
we feel what we want to feel
then we go down again
without a word
for ourselves
too tired
we console ourselves
that was solitude
we shall now talk about.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Leaves Turning Grey
Like a carcass lays, an ancient tree,
he tried to pray, through celestial seas,
but his spirit flew just like a bee.
Everyday he gazed at crying clouds,
the wind through his branches was so loud.
He looked for listening ears
as he stood in a sea of tears.
O tree, do you still wade?
Why have you lost your will to change?
O tree, leaves turning grey,
your roots have lost their range.
But how can one ask for help,
when you're not helping yourself?
And so this tree founded on sand,
with the wind tumbled to land.
He's an arboreal fool,
in a world that pulls
his heart and blood apart.
O tree, you've lost your blood,
your dead branches lay in the mud.
O tree, leaves turning grey,
your roots in such ground won't stay.
poem by Soren Valentine
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