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What Is Really The Gift You Give Me On My Birthday?

what you hand is a box with a reb ribbon
you say it is your gift on my birthday
and i open it
it is an orange cake
with sweet mango slices as toppings
and a lone cherry on top of
a mound of chocolate
and some green candles
telling me my exact age
and this matchstick
to light the wicks

the cake is on the table
and i stand right there surrounded
by all of you
singing the birthday song
and the time comes for my
making a wish and the blowing
of the little flames of my age

after the party you all live one by
one like stars fading at dawn
and i am left alone with all
the litters and the laughters
that stick on the walls and
curtain and the giggles that
spill on the table cloth

the gift is not the box
it is not the cake it is not the cherry
it is not the little green candles
that speak of my age
it is not the flame because i
blow them all
it is not even the wish that i make
for myself because they are all mine
secretly seeping in the crevices of my cranium

what is the gift really that you give me on my birthday
i know it and you know it
how can we not tell each other sometime?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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