At First I Did Not Believe Her

unless you hear the sound
of the footsteps of the ant
pulling a grain of rice
below your feet
as you swallow the
chunk of tuna in
your mouth

unless you feel the corpuscles
of white blood bumping with
the red blood cells inside
the veins in your
heart

unless you know how to
wait for the turtle
to finish its trip from
one river to another

unless you have the time
counting the needles of rain
falling on your rooftop

unless you know how to wait
for another rainbow to appear
between the mango and
coconut tree

unless you know how to embrace
and hug sweetly another
insomniac night

you will never reach the place where
your secret dreams are buried

covered by the diamond sands
and guarded by angels with hair

made of gold. There you shall have
your final rest.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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