Morning Mumblings.....

the dog always knows
who is its master,

the master likes it
of course,

we however, remains to
be the sands in the desert

thirsting for water
thriving on tiny violets and

cactus and scorpions and
rattlesnakes,

we have refused the name of
the source of water

we infused instead the comfort
of the night

relying on the thick blankets
that we have kept for ourselves

the camels brayed,
the stones are so silent

the palms sing
the olives keep its oil

the dog barks at the
wrong tree

the moon sails and
falls upon the edge of the horizon

the riddles keep a shape
of a face shaking its head

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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