Th

there are times when we fell like
waste paper, that uselessness,
when we seem to be not connected at all
even to our very own self
when we are scattering sheets of paper
in the air
falling like confetti to the ground
and then it rains
and everything is wet
drained
to the dirty canals of our cities
down, down to the
worst of our histories

i let go off these all,
i simply wait for another sun
and rainbow after the rain
things do not last anyway
the good and the bad end themselves
beauty and ugliness
sadness and happiness

then every hump levels up
there is the plain, and then the grass and then the gaze.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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