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My Corazon

before i sleep let me write this one

it has no meaning
it is but just a marker of what i feel

feelings are like water
with no monuments

boundaries always change
and so riparian feelers always quarrel

over nothing over something that simply comes
and goes and goes and comes like

a pendulum of floods and dry bed upon
a common river

what is see are dead woods drifting
old people holding their young crossing a river

boulders of stones on the side
a river bank without any growing plants

what i am marking is not even time
i do not know what it is

i write this one
when by chance i read this again

i know i will remember something or someone
or if at all i will remember a wall without words

a street without a name a pair of sleepers left on the sands
or i meet people who sound like me but whose faces are blank

you must know what remembering is
it is always incomplete

some details are missing but there is a shadow
a stroke an outline of what once made you happy

what once made you fly in the heavens or
what also one gave you all the pains of falling

a double edge sword that is what i am writing tonight
an i remember the face of truth

yes, it is a Picasso.
A paloma.
Labios. My corazon.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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