Not Fitting In Despite All Those Years

sometimes you envy
the monk in maroon peacefully
crossing the street
somewhere in Ho Chi Minh

or even an earthen bowl half-filled with water
with a jasmine flower floating
upon a very still world

you like to take the brush and some water colors
to paint all these

but it is a little crowded world you have there
there is simply no time for wasting
it's a fast paced lifestyle

the lifelessness of the to and fro
the unstoppable flow
trying to accomplish almost everything
without meaning.

somewhere in a dream
you wish you were the monk
or even
the jasmine

and then you hit your chest with your fist
convincing yourself that at a certain hour
you can be so foolish
still not fitting in despite all those years

'how can you be a beautiful jasmine in a concrete wall?
how can you be the monk in maroon in a public market full of
swindlers and screaming spice vendors? '

amidst the mess, in the middle of the crowd
how can you be a dream?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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