Where Am I And Where Am I Going

those are not questions now.
and i do not need to answer them.
for you.

where am i, i am here, my hands
owning a set of fingers. fingers that
grope for words. for us.

i like to think
i am groping for
the words of love. for you.
i like to see how a leaf sways
caressed by the wind that
loves it. gently. for us to think about

for a time, being, here.
where am i, i am beside
a big box. a house. i am inside.
this big empty box, where
a loud music is played
and my ears are dying
to be sealed by fate

to deafening indifference
of you. from me. i am here.
saving on words. scribbling
some meanings. for us.

i am in the middle of
an overuse. i am in need
of a recluse. for us. to fuse
again.

some birds tweeting
the sound of departure.
is this the mating season
of the wind and the water
and the river and the sea?

where am i going?
i am going nowhere.
i am staying i am loyal
to this seat

i am warm like
a palm. i am going,
let me tell you honestly,

i am going to make a difference.
for us. we shall never be the same again.

you grip my hand. I escape through the fingers
of my watery self.

as usual, you will see me: a river, and then i am

the sea.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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