Evasive

the answers are shy
they have not matured

they always are not
confronting the questions

which keep on roaming like
Nazi soldiers looking

for the kill of the innocent
ones

the answers are arrows
with blunt tips

the questions are the black holes
of our universe

who dares to answer all of them
not me

i see all the questions
and i am but a little boy stupid on the street

looking for mother
and afraid of what a father can do

to defend the senselessness of
my posture

the questions are alive
the answers need a redemption

i take the side step
write a poem and then sleep

who know?
the answer is nothing but a dream

yes, a dream
something ephemeral

yes, an illusion
something like a mirror

yes, a moment,
something that must pass like the shadow of the moon.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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