Citatepedia^®.com

For A Friend Who Is Also Struggling Out There

it is still 3 o'clock in the afternoon. iT is raining heavily
outside as we still keep busy with our own business
inside this courtroom.

two lawyers arguing on a point. I am listening.
the accused sits there, his life is at stake.
the mother is tense. two mothers.
THE mother of the complainant
who cries that her daughter is a victim
of rape.The mother of the accused who rebuts
that his son is just framed-up by the real
culprits who are still-at-large.

the glass windows of the court
muted the sound of the heavy rain.
but the way the trees are swaying to and fro
like a pendulum of a grandfather's clock
very well tells that there is a bad weather
outside this courtroom.

a river of faces faces me. i look at the eyes
of the room, the windows cased in glass
as the rain is maimed wanting to get in
as though trying to say that it has also
something to say about the matters
discussed inside this closed room.

the world is always asking, what is the truth?
it reminds us, there is only one truth and the
rest are lies. I keep on trying to learn from it.

the argument has always been:
everyone is a victim, and no one wins this game

of a legal play. sometimes the guilty is set free
and the innocent is put to prison.

there will be cries of the wind. In a closed court
like this, one cannot really hear the sound of its cries.
I am trying to figure out. Each word. The words of the
wind and the muted sounds of the rain.

THE hammer shall fall and it shall fall heavily.
Can this poem help me? Are emotions aids?

Many mouths shall shape the words. Each lip makes
a reading of itself. There will be whispers and murmurs.
There will be calls and cries and hounding sounds.

I sleep at night soundly. My conscience shall be my pillow.
There will be dreams handed to me by the gods.

As i write this, think also of my own journey, my own sorrows.
In the battles outside and inside us, a closed room vis-a-vis
the outside cries of the wind and the rain, i want to simply tell you, , ,

keep moving on. We move on too, with our own busy lives.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!