On A Night Trip On The Last Trip Of The Bus Bound For Zamboanga

i do not look for any reason
why i choose the last trip bound for zamboanga

it is not important
i take the pleasure of seeing nothing along the road

but the darkness and some street lights
some houses keeping the porch flickering

on some constancy
of having light and caution

against evil.
the rest of the few of the passengers here

are all asleep
tired of the day's business

whatever
i could not sleep thinking about this journey

like a bullet looking for its subject
like a tennis ball dissolving into a dark space

soundlessly, everything moves
inside my mind.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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