My Face

you only see half of my eyes
a part of my nose you shall kiss
my mustache rugged like the mountain ridge
of cracking stones and parched mud
of wilted grasses under the cruel sun of long droughts
my lips are thick as the dark night and
silent like the short lived dusk
my beard are uncut for months now
my hair black and long is blown by the wind
always eastward bound
blending with the bleakness
of my future.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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