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For Him I Know Not: Viii

i never really explored
the depths of this soul
that people talk so much of
but when your eyes first met mine
and the lashes moved on their own
in disbelief if it's all for real
that nth part of a wink
i knew what eternity is all about
in that eternity i dived
deep into those unknown depths

ever since
i've been waiting at those
invisible depths...

25may2010
16.50hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Something In Me Cannot Cry

mother told me once
my boy
cry if you will
do not hide your feelings
men cry
your Papa cried when your
Grandpa passed away
twenty years ago
you were then a toddler
in the row

i have grown
and there were so many pains
like pins
and grains

i have cried not just once
but more than thrice
till the nth time
when something in me cannot cry anymore

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Another Love Song

let me say, even if you do not believe me,
i am here
swinging on a rattan hammock
facing the sea
figuring out how God mixes the color
of a sun fading and the darkness
finally winning the game
of day

let me say, for the nth time, that i am here
alone
waiting for no one,
not thinking about change of society
not computing the number
of the dead
comrades,

let me say, that i am here, thinking of you,
but i know,
you do not believe me anymore

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As I Face You On This Battle Front

this i can tell you
in all confidence
gone are swords
or daggers or missiles
or ak47s or anything
else more advanced
in this battlefront
all these and more are
but mere obselete

a look or
a word or
nth part of a glance
of ignoring or a touch
you shudder from
is far more lethal
than all these put together

even a dropp of blood
will never be seen

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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Hidden Something

something that you promise not to see
again
the tongue hides within the mouth
it will not taste this again
the eyes roll
eyelids close as the scene is
repeated
it is about another form
of tongue-in-cheek
the mouth says something that it does not mean
the brain understands perfectly
like the heart

and so here it is again
viewed for the nth time
this time the conscience is numb

it says
another lie
it comes back again

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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88

i just had the number
88
inside my head.

it is not a grade
not money.

it is a mark of what i have done
on the other side
of my life.

i outlive 3,000
going on to 4,000
i clap my hands, give myself a toast
of red wine
when i had my first 1,000

you must remember my 1,000 cranes
paper cranes
paper poems on cranes and other creatures

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The future of Social Security?

“The trust fund, Men, is nearly spent.
The well is running dry”
“What will we tell the peasants
who expect pie in the sky? ”

“We must find a hero
to restore tranquility-
“Someone who’s a flim flam man
to the nth degree.”

With Obama much too busy
to calm the masses now.
They bailed Bernie Madoff out
to milk the sacred cow.

The checks went out as usual
Folks took them to the bank.
By noon the checks began to bounce
which made the markets tank.

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poem by John F. McCullagh
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On Visiting Shiridi...

what binds me to them
is the same faith we share
as the winding human length
moves and comes abruptly to a halt
we all wait with the same thought in mind
though routine matters fill the space,
the focus would never shift from mind
and o, what relief for a wink when one stands
in the presincts of his presence

he sits there absorbing all
that nth part of blink is the time
we leave behind our acquired self
to stand there in his presence as we are

let sanity prevail
in this world of ours
fast bordering on insanity
let there be tolerance
let there be love

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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Love Poem #3

i could have
believed
in love potions
and sorcerers
if only to make
you love me

and i could have
deceived you
to drink the
glass where
you think
everything is
just plain
crystal clear
water

i could have
insisted that you
can love me

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Feeling Hollow Is Not A Crime

feeling hollow is not a crime,
why worry? i like to feel hollow at times
i feel so light and guiltless, and i sit on a bench
and look at passersby, guessing what is also
inside their minds: that one is hollow too,
she is floating in air like a butterfly
and that one is hollower than thou
she has a halo.

now i feel hollow too, but i get so used to it
that it has gained weight like a feather from
the status of air, and i have become so sensitive
to what other hollow people like me feel,
to the nth time of their empty lives,
but, know what, only for a little time,
hollow minds become filled,
like hollow souls too filled with so
much divine grace.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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