En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Sweetest Lie

when i arrive there
the window is closed
i know a shadow
lurking behind it
i sense desire
you peep and i see you
your eyes speak
that i may come inside
the door that
is half open
i do not think that much
i enter the door
and close it behind me

two shadows fade
when the lights are switched off
we feat on such
a beautiful silence

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A glimpse

a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe

inspired by

A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Closed Door

sometimes we want to enter
a door
a closed door that does not open
no matter how hard we
knock
we try being courteous and gentle
and so patient
eating every waiting time
like we are the most foolish of all fools
knocking a closed door
seducing it more often with our
pleadings
begging and even compromising
for a dance
to convince the owner of the door to
open it
but no one hears, no one cares to listen
to our pleadings,
no one likes the dance of compromises
the door is still closed
and then the last crooked thing happens
we take the axe
and break the door which is closed
forcing it open
only to find that all the people there are dead
there is nothing inside
but mystery and
grief
an unsolved crime, no more
no less.

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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Door

Behind the door what happens
behind the door what's hidden
till you keep the door closed
you are not exposed

Elseone cannot peep in
Elseone cannot step in
other side of closed door
you live behind secured.

If you want door of others
to open for you
keep your door open for
who needs you.

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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The Question

Love, a question
has destroyed you.

I have come back to you
from thorny uncertainty.

I want you straight as
the sword or the road.

But you insist
on keeping a nook
of shadow that I do not want.

My love,
understand me,
I love all of you,
from eyes to feet, to toenails,
inside,
all the brightness, which you kept.

It is I, my love,
who knocks at your door.
It is not the ghost, it is not
the one who once stopped
at your window.
I knock down the door:
I enter your life:
I come to live in your soul:
you cannot cope with me.

You must open door to door,
you must obey me,
you must open your eyes
so that I may search in them,
you must see how I walk
with heavy steps
along all the roads
that, blind, were waiting for me.

Do not fear,
I am yours,
but
I am not the passenger or the beggar,
I am your master,
the one you were waiting for,
and now I enter
your life,
no more to leave it,
love, love, love,
but to stay.

poem by Pablo Neruda
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Peeping a window

Peeping a window

Part 1

From inside you peep out
from outside you peep in;
to see the desired scene
keeping you unseen.

Part 2

Me and my friend were peeping
Through the same window
Having heartful bliss getting
a glimpse of her or her shadow

He did not know my deed
I did not know his deed
One day we got exposed
later window was closed

For him I gave up my desire
for me he sacrificed his longing
Our first seed of love was buried
before growing to seedling.

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Betrayed

I WENT back to our home to-day
That still its robe of roses wore;
My feet took the old easy way,
And led me to our door.

And you are gone and never more
Those little feet of yours will come
To meet me at the open door,
The threshold of our home.

The door unlatched did not protest:
I entered, and the silence drew
My steps towards the little nest
That once I shared with you.

There lay your fan, your open book,
Your seam half-sewn, and I could see
The window whence you used to look--
Yes, once you looked--for me.

Print of your little head caressed
Our pillow still, and on the floor
Still lay, dropped there when last you dressed,
The scarf and rose you wore.

All should have spoken of you plain,
Yet, when I bade the silence tell
Of you, my bidding was in vain,
I could not break its spell.

The silence would not speak, my dear,
Till the last level light grew dim;
Then, in the twilight I could hear;
The silence spoke--of him.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Contemplation On The Climbing Of The Stairs...

as i climb the stair
i always think what is up there

when i arrive there
the door is closed

and i am thinking why
contemplating on the other possibilities

shall i open the door
and ask myself in

what if there is nobody there
what if it is just a door and there is nothing inside

i sit on the the last step
and i think again

what if it is not the stair after all
but only the ground

or the pebble or the grass
what if it is only myself and there is nobody else

what if i am just dreaming
what if i am nothing at all

but a thought
without weight without volume

what if this is all about air
a breath a hush a slip?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There At The Cave Door Of The Old Church

there at the cave door of the old church
you shall enter

move farther. move some more until you reach
the dead end corner
where the windows are little squares
lighted by the small fingers of the sun
shining all day

find our some truths of squares
lights and shadows of the past of this old church
on its window and door

have you gone to the old church in Baclayon?
have you seen this old door and window?

tell me if it is true that there are no more choices
in your life.

what they are saying is not really true.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your shop door

I looked at the sign on your shop door
it didnt say open or closed
I tried the handle because I wasnt sure.

Thats why im here inside
Well that and the fact I want some sweats
my dad often goes to the Cafe
and they look at him when ever he eats
he takes a packed lunch
he sits on the seats
there was this one time when he got a punch
it was because he wasnt allowed to buy
they threw him out they give him a black eye
they spat on him and I never knew why.

I looked at the sign on your shop door
it didnt say open or closed
I tried the handle because I wasnt sure.

That cafe he entered was open
and he was not there when the window was broken
he just needed somewhere to sit on a rainy noon
an accent like his?
The roads were his only room.
They're tools? Knives, falks and spoons
His? a shovel, a graft, to dig out the root which so many hold onto.
I pass your shop every day thinking,
'Open or closed to enter I dont know if I want to'.

poem by Daniel McCann
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Another Learning

there is a door
between us as though
we are just
two adjacent rooms

to enter into your door
i need to have that key

you keep on telling me
the key was lost and you
do not know
where to find it anymore

there is another door
and you are allowing someone else to come in

at first i say 'This is unfair! ' and
I thought of forcing
that door open

on the other hand
i have my own door too
and the lock is broken

a long time ago i have
thrown out the key

for what use is a door with
a broken lock?

and for what use is your door
to my prayer?

i do not know what force is &
i already stopped begging

i change the frames of my window
i have some other plans in mind

there are nine planets in our
galaxy

there are many galaxies
in unlimited space

and like all those who still hope
they always know

that someone somewhere keeps
on waiting

in a world where doors welcome me
like arms in half-embrace

and so i go to places where
my feet are welcome
& i have learned the happiness
of forgetting.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Baby Blue You've Got You

All the guests are gone
Silence on the glass brims
Their laughter will fade out
Their footsteps will be swallowed
By clear night sky

You can close the door
There they are no more

You can say ‘That’s it.’
They won’t care a bit.

All whispers are taken
Silence on the glass brims
Growing into dark
When the lights turn off
Window panes stand broken

You can close them down
They will give no sound

You’ll say ‘It’s ok.’
Try sleep for the day.

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Door Between Two Worlds

this the door between our two worlds
it divides the inside and the outside
the light and the darkness
the choice is yours

there is no lock
there is only the hinge that holds the door to its place
when you open it
there is no sound
and when you close it
there is only this silence of the air sealed inside our minds

my heart does not sing inside
it is muted by the darkness that moment your gentle hands
close the door

it is patient, the mind

the incompatibilities of the things outside us
are too inviting
they tempt us to step outside and promise us
the magical wonders of freedom

we feel so light like our joys like cottons and clouds
they are no different from our wishes

i am in the middle of this door between us
& you look at me like i am the last man of this earth

your heart opens with eyes too careful not to know
what i do next is the suspense of this uncertainty

your eyes close, my heart bleeds
my hands wilt, your mind wanders like a lost wind

the door closes finally
walling us in
it locks upon itself and

the world sleeps soundly curling its feet on the beds of the
heavens

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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Rizal

i agree
education is the key

when the door if
finally opened
in fact a long time ago
and

we already had
333 years in that
Spanish convent and
43 years of
that Hollywood experience

another door has been
closed
and still
the key has to open it

one door leads to
another
same key

the young keep on getting
that key
another door is close
more keys

each key has become
more expensive
and some have thrown
that key away

meanwhile the Authority
is asking
that doors outside the country
be opened

export labor
brain drain
that is another key
problem

on the other
hand
it is not the money
it is the open mind
resilient to
poverty

taking time still to laugh
at those hard times

i agree
despite the irrelevance
it is still
the rightful key

the door is open
and we are inside it
no one
no one can take this house
again
from us

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Door To World Peace

The door to world peace is open.
All nations are invited to come in.
A welcome mat is available for every one,
And rogue nations may enter again.

The door to world peace is open
And no nation is turned away,
But if few decide not to enter the fold,
Peace will be shortlived in every way.

Peace keepers fill our hearts with hope,
And attempt to dry our heavy tears,
And open hearts for sound relationships
That will last for many delightful years.

A nation that is closed to others
Grows harder than concrete or stone,
And the people who reside there
Are destined to be isolated and alone.

If you slam the door on some nations,
Peace initiatives will continue to cease,
But if all nations are willing to compromise,
What a difference it can make to seek peace?

Skeptical nations will always wonder
How world peace might have been
When the door was open for them to enter,
But they failed to come in.

poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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As I Wait For For You

and then our minds met at a point
of convergence
i waited for you in a room without a number
a place without a name
a space where only us know what & how to fill

i am naked
you want the whole truth and so i am naked
in this room without a number, a place without a name
a space, where only our self-manifested emptiness know how & what to fill

when you arrive do not call my name
be so soft and gentle with your feet
do not even say your name as
i have also left my name somewhere else
and it is only i who knows it

i lose my identity
that is how i want to spend my short moment with you

i am naked
i only have my face, my skin and my flesh my bones my whole body
not my soul

do not knock
just push the door
it is left open throughout the nights of my waiting
i have intended it that way
so when you arrive and i am still asleep with my dreams and desires
of you
do not disturb the silence and sweetness of my sleep

just whisper your desire for love so sweet to my ears
touch the surfaces of my skin and caress with your soft fingers the smooth lines of my face
place your head just beside my tight chest
for there you shall hear the sounds of all my desires
and then my love we begin the sharing of our hidden truths
we shall dance in our nakedness

we shall make love real
we shall open the shutters of this closed window
we let the slits of light from outside the night get inside us and put some
warmth on the empty pores of our skins

we bring light to the darkness of our lives
we put fire to those eyes that refuse to close and die

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Ever Open Door

Desire to live, love and dream
Desire to desire more
Desire is the flirtiest whim
It's an ever open door.
Desire to touch you once
Desire to break into a dance
Desire to hold your hand
Desire to build on sand!
It's an ever open door
You desire and desire more!

poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Dark

What will I do with a fountain
of time
my silence
is a well without a dropp of water
I can weep in the dark
weep and its silence will hear me
but it will close its eyes
it will not speak
the evening will tread on
quietly an old man
it will walk on without looking back
without seeing where its shadow
sleeps
and I can say wait where
are you going
and I can think of all the places I can think of
I can think of walls walls walls
of walls behind which anything lurks
I can lock myself
in a closet full of clothes not my size
fill my pockets with dust
or take off my clothes and imagine
my skin is ice
and I will be standing here
where I am standing stepping on moments
that sharpen into hours like thorns
into my feet
the wound in my heart is deep
the pain does not answer to any name
where is the door
the window the door

*reprinted from a friend

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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