As I Write This Poem

as i write this, she is with someone else,
a friend, i do not really know. I do not dare ask.
i do not like any answer. for what i have are just questions.

as i write this, the people around me are talking within themselves.
half-naked. copying their books. talking loudly among themselves.

friends, yes they are friends, and they say they belong to one another.
someone stands to take a look at me.
as though i am a tree. another one stares at me. as though i am a bird.

i hear a phone ringing.
it is not stopping. she says she is waiting outside the door.

i am not a tree. i am not a little bird.
with her waiting for me, they looked at me,
confused.

i do not dare tell them, i am a man
and this is not about love. this is about
my soul

she is my soulmate waiting. and she says
she can wait that long. whatever. wherever. whenever.

then they start doing their own affairs.
one reads back his book. the other goes back to his seat.
and then they stopped talking.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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