there is something in other <br />people that we all love <br /> <br />adore <br />even unreasonably that we like <br />to touch and caress with our own <br />hands <br />only to put dirt on their <br />clean skins <br /> <br />even without talking <br />we like to undress <br />and scrutinize every hidden <br />corner and see <br />what is there <br /> <br /> <br />it makes our heart beat <br />jump, <br />dive <br />collide <br />burst, <br />explode <br /> <br />it can even make us <br />dangerous as <br /> some of them may <br />be the cause of <br />untimely deaths <br />of some of us <br />who cannot <br />bear <br />the agonies of <br />our <br />flesh <br /> <br /> we keep on saying <br />'no regrets! : <br /> <br />no hurt feelings, <br /> <br /> this is the lifetime <br />of joy <br /> <br />there is so much <br />thinking <br />spending <br />more whole nights <br />about wishing, <br />and dreaming even <br />if in the process we also <br />shrink ourselves <br />into minute particles of <br />insignificance <br /> <br />of brittleness <br />that make our eyes <br />shatter <br /> <br />nerves cut off <br />systems turn off <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> when the first morning light <br />however <br /> comes <br />through the leaks of our <br />awakening <br />walls <br /> <br /> we wake up <br />rise from <br />our positions <br />of defeat & <br />we proclaim incessantly <br />through a murmur: <br /> <br /> <br />'forget it, <br /> it is not me! '<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-discourse-on-pleasure/
