A Ritual

one puts too much
oil on the hair
and you know how it
goes

your face glows
like fire
your hair becomes
pitch black

and you face the people
of this corner
and that pathway
as though you are you

inside the fire
and the sickness burns
outside the smile
becomes as wide
as full moon

who knows you?
nobody

what then? you are happy.
i know, . i am too.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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