At The Second Floor

at the second floor of the old house
he goes up
taking the creaking stairs
as though telling him some old stories
about the falling of the
clan house to ashes for years
no one dared say
about the fall of this family
there are whispers
not louder as a thud of a cat's foot
limping on the carpet

up there is the open space overlooking the blue sea
a white sail and some foams of the sea caps
catch his attention but he can not withstand such a distant view
his eyes are hurt by too much light and tiny object

he looks at the nearby tree
old mahogany spreading its branches touching the roof

there is this single leaf that falls
a hush of the wind

twirling to the shaded space
it lands on the pebbles

nothing is heard but he has seen it all
the fall.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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