How Come

you move on whatever it takes
on what form
or shape or color

you join a party
finds some hoax
or opens the
fake emotions

crossed, one gets away
for good,
or bad,
one listens, on the
barrage of
outbursts of emotions

late at night
mouths are pressed
and the brain dreams
of lands so faraway

having discovered
a scar
the wound remembers

and then
the night begins to speak
it murmurs
it is mum from the beginning
strikes past twelve
it stops,

it accepts
what lies there
as a nude
woman needing
a man

ah, the stone turns
into a bird
and one wonders
how come...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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