Obsessions Of The Lost Man

i

at the lobby of the manila hotel
you sit on one of the glossy chairs
you hold a square note in your hand
you want to tear it
you sit still and keep on waiting

for no one.

ii

you look at those things near you
closely scrutinizing the
big round Greek pillar
tracing the veins of the pastel brown marble

it speaks a history of this place
the previous war
where your father was the traitor

iii

a compass in your hand
a letter that you have just read
a glass of wine

a silence of your lost world.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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