Zahir

he steps out the door of the house
it is late and he walks wherever his feet carry him
he wants to be irresponsible about what to do with himself

he bathes himself with the light of the moon
sits under the tree on the grass
it is always this way
solitude and loafing of thoughts

he looks at the moon and once again stares at its craters
its round smiling face glistening in the middle of this darkness
all veins of rivers and cliffs and creeks

he loses himself in these thoughts
so faraway as distant as the stars are tiny

these excruciating details of his pain
he goes wherever these pains take him
he does not mind anymore

but soon all these will be over
he will be oblivious about what happens for the moment
he takes his hands and open them before him under the light of the moon
he sees the lines of his palm
he wakes up from the moonlight stupor
he traces now
where
for God's sake, where is the trail that now must lead him to joy

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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