In The Hands Of Your Precious Time.

it is as usual unsynchronized
you go there missing the white sands
of boracay
you lay your body feeling its softness
but it is the usual
indifference,

contemplation did not cure it.
something is missing in the softness
perhaps love spills out
like its fine nature

what greets you instead is the cool breeze
from afar

it has traveled too like you to come here
and meet
so unexpectedly.

for the one you love does not love you.
and the one who loves you,
you did not mind at all.

and this is the reality of our existence.
mutuality is rare, and if happens with you
by all means, embrace it.

at the end, you die for it because it is
worth dying for.

so here you are dancing with the wind.
trying to love what must pass by.
trying to hold whatever spills like all
the sands of the shores
in the hands of your precious time.




throughout the room,
like a dove, flapping
its wings
bringing the advice
of the old pastor...

try Christ. He overflows.

by RIC BASTASA

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