The New Journey
it must have been the fruit of a trance
i must have spoken about a truth
that upon waking up (whatever that is)
i do not remember
it is a stranger that i face that insists upon a name
and address
hoping that i will soon remember it and give it
a temporary home
what was it? i still do not remember
i tell it i do not remember there is no exactness about this
remembering game
i resign into a chasing game, look i could be you and you could be me
i am certain now, there is something else between us that we love
to identify with
ah, it is you, i can feel it, there is no longer a bridge there
the river rises and overflows
someone at the other side of the bank calls your name
with missing letters, with some syllables that you have to guess
and then you walk away, and you know where it is now
and whom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.