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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Room
(chris waters/tom shapiro)
When I pull in the drive where your car used to be
It doesnt hurt me like it used to
I can walk through the door, and not wonder anymore
Where you are, like I used to
I can go down the hall, see the pictures on the wall
And not miss you
But I just cant bring myself to go into..
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Id remember too much if I opened that door
And Im not sure if I could face it
The beds emptiness would remind me youre with
Someone else, and I couldnt take it
So, I sleep on the couch in our living room now
Since our love died
cause Im still not ready yet to go inside...
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Where the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Secrets Of The Loving Person
the room where you sleep
does not take hold of you
your bed cannot be part of your skin
and your windows are nothing but
the ordinary closing and opening
of your day
you like a door that opens
to nowhere
you have diamonds in your hands
you spread them
in the garden and you see
how they all glitter for a while
darkness folds and
light of another day opens
you take a walk and whistle
you don't remember the color of the blanket
you forget what warmth was there on that bed
you do not care whether the windows are closed or open
you move to another house
and tell your stories all over again
there is no blink in your eyes
there is no stammering in your tongue
you do not tell them what you love
there are no hands too familiar to hold you back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
No Attachments
the room where you sleep
does not take hold of you
your bed cannot be part of your skin
and your windows are nothing but
the ordinary closing and opening
of your day
you like a door that opens
to nowhere
you have diamonds in your hands
you spread them
in the garden and you see
how they all glitter for a while
darkness folds and
light of another day opens
you take a walk and whistle
you don't remember the color of the blanket
you forget what warmth was there on that bed
you do not care whether the windows are closed or open
you move to another house
and tell your stories all over again
there is no blink in your eyes
there is no stammering in your tongue
you do not tell them what you love
there are no hands too familiar to hold you back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Door I Open To Close
The door I open to close behind me,
Would be less routine...
If I knew,
You'd be awaiting in a room...
To greet me like you use to do.
With a barrage of pent up sentiments.
The door I open to close behind me,
Welcomes me with a peaceful silence...
I did not always find,
When remembering those times...
I wondered where you were,
And that disturbed me.
Today,
When I open that same door to close...
After missing you,
And going through those adjustments we made...
I think of us not having enough trust,
And so willing to give up.
When all I wanted was just five minutes...
To myself.
And you could never understand why.
The door I open to close behind me,
Would be less routine...
If I knew,
You'd be awaiting in a room...
To greet me like you use to do.
Sometimes now I wish,
I had given you ten minutes.
Since that's all you wanted from me to listen.
I'm all ears now,
Wanting to hear your voice!
But you made a choice to leave.
And I can not blame you for choosing to.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Repost Of The Past Poem
i step out of the door
from my dark room the windows are not open
it is humid and cold
i step out of the door the windows are still closed
i lock the door and step upon a patch of green grass
the dews are hanging on the blades and shaken
i look upon the sky
and there is this star still shining
despite the opening of the mouth of the morning
i was in deep slumber
i close my eyes
i see your face but i promise there shall be no tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The House of Secret
Close the door, the window speaks
The glass mirrors, the frame shrieks
Close the window, the wall listens
The picture has eyes, the curtain has shadow
Close the wall, the roof stares
The air chills, the light fogs
Close the roof, the floor swallows
The carpet has void, the stair has trap
Close the floor, the door sneaks
In the house of secret, could you find the escape?
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
X
in this house of mine
there are many rooms and windows and stairs
you are invited
to take your rest and mind each piece
of myself
displayed and open for view
and even for touch
and even
for your tasting
not even for a moment but for a long time
for as long as all these shall last
but there is one door that you cannot open
one window that is closed
one room which is dark
there is nothing there except my secret longing
no one opens it for no one can
no one sees what is inside it for no one can
there is this fruit in my tree of paradise
that you cannot taste
and touch
and even see
it is only for me and i do not really like it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Her Hands Are Stronger Now
she greets you by the door. She knows you are coming.
Her heart pounds for you.
She shows the room. It looks for you for many years.
Now she brags the room is alive.
she opens the window and lets the air
and the trees know that you are here finally.
they all talk about you know.
they nod, you are no longer a dog.
Or a parakeet.
The chair opens its arms for you.
You take your seat.She asks you if you miss coffee.
Black coffee, without sugar.
You look around. There is nothing changed here.
20 years ago, all the structures are faithful
to their positions.
They miss you and like to embrace you.
She is restrained like a dam.
No tears this time.
Not even some tears of joy.
She knows why you are here.
The room, the tree and the window,
the floors are blind.
She knows that this will be the last time
of your compromise.
She is dead 20 years back
when you told her
about the truth.
How can she feel like the room, the floor,
the tree and the window
How can she be as foolish as air and cloud?
Her hands are strong now.
They write her name, her signature to sorrow.
Her heart notes the final statement.
Life is over.
Game is over.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It is sometimes the man who opens the door who is the last to enter the room.
quote by Elizabeth Bibesco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
So Much Depends On This Experience
one night when you arrive home
it is you that opens the garage
you have to step out of the car
and expose yourself to this inevitable coldness of a nightfall
no one is home
tonight
when you open the door using your own duplicate key
you switch on the light
no one is home tonight
the garage and house is now well lighted
you close the door and all the windows
you go straight to your bedroom
&
switch on the air-conditioner
you feel the arrival of a very cold packet of wind
from the tip of your feet
and it arrives like a jackal
as you begin to imagine it to be like
the one that you read in those horror books
it howls so loud trying to break the tympanum of your ears
and it is going to bite you
with its sharp eyes and teeth
but there is something so wrong with you:
you are not afraid, you do not mind jackals,
and now you are ready to bite this crazy one
you like this cold, and you smell the frost
you lick it
there is something so wrong with you:
you are aroused, and you do not like to sleep at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Open The Door And Enter The Room
i open this door
and enter this room
i do not have to tell you
that i am always here
the moment i enter it
i close it
and then i have my own world
that you my love
has not entered
dare not
for this is my world
where i am happiest
it is surrounded with
mirrors
each wall contains
my face
there are no words
or other images
and the floors sing
even without lips
i am happy here
without you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Things That Will Be
learning not to trust
for things that will be
something to hope for
they will not always
last for a lifetime
the seed you bury
the worm sometimes eats it
the bud you mark
remains tight and falls
this you must know
as early as you are born
see the light
of everyday blunders
for sometimes when
you close a door
it does not mean
that the window opens
oh well, it is not easy to learn
realities damned
dreams broken
selves bursting
a world in your eyes
annihilating
but of course you may start anew
be positive you once say
light a candle in the room
let no one burn.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Prelude To Kafka
one morning
when i discover
that i have turned
into a cockroach
you may write
what i will
do
you may theorize
that since i will be
to shy to go out
of my room just like
what your character did
then i may lock my
room, not eat,
and only talk to
my sister
that i may soon hate
my father
and will soon forget
my mother
i can relate to all
these based on my
readings
but i can see
what i can do
when i stink and
soon fear light
when even the air
which is suppose to
hush a lullaby
now hurts too
just like the rest
of those who
are close to me
and turn themselves
into disgusting monsters
more disgusting
than my being a
human-cockroach
you know very well
that i am brave enough
to force the door
to the other room
the one that none of
you has ever entered
i can use a knife
an ax or a hand grenade
i can even use a bomb
to break this
back door open
i am brave and
will always be restless
on a broken wing
of a bird i can
always still manage
to fly
away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Note For Franz Kafka
one morning
when i discover
that i have turned
into a cockroach
you may write
what i will
do
you may theorize
that since i will be
to shy to go out
of my room just like
what your character did
then i may lock my
room, not eat,
and only talk to
my sister
that i may soon hate
my father
and will soon forget
my mother
i can relate to all
these based on my
readings
but i can see
what i can do
when i stink and
soon fear light
when even the air
which is suppose to
hush a lullaby
now hurts too
just like the rest
of those who
are close to me
and turn themselves
into disgusting monsters
more disgusting
than my being a
human-cockroach
you know very well
that i am brave enough
to force the door
to the other room
the one that none of
you has ever entered
i can use a knife
an ax or a hand grenade
i can even use a bomb
to break this
back door open
i am brave and
will always be restless
on a broken wing
of a bird i can
always still manage
to fly
away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Plane
when it starts to fly it is being met by this rain.
there is this strong wind ahead of us and some dark clouds
the stewardess announces said state and we are 30,000 feet
above the mountains
yes, these are the bumpy skyways.
i close my eyes. i think of you, the house, the garden, the room,
and the two dogs you are caring.
(will we crash? will this plane fall to the ground? shall we die in an instant?)
i close my eyes.
then the plane steadies. i open my eyes.
there are clear clouds. below is a wide expanse of the blue sea.
i look at the wings of the plane.
and then its wheels touch the ground.
the door opens.
it is another world for me.
i feel the importance of the ground. Its glory. Its reign now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The day comes when you become the center of the universe
You sit in the middle of your house
The chairs and table and the trunks
Have become the planets that
Revolve around you.
You close your eyes and keep
Your arms beneath you.
You become the sun and the
Slits of lights coming from the
Leak of your roof and the windows
And shutters and blinds
Become your stars.
The silver basin on the sink
Has become your moon.
You clench your fists.
Your room has become
The empty space of your
Self-made universe.
The world is silent in its
Wholeness. You float and you
Travel alone along the edges
Of emptiness.
The morning comes and the
Dog opens your door
Licking your feet and face
And wagging its tail to
Catch your attention.
It sees you: bald, untrimmed
Beard, stinking skin, loose skin
In the arms and neck, broken teeth,
Bloated guts, crooked backbone.
It is the dog that loves you
You are its truth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!