Author: Cassa Bassa

🇦🇺🇨🇳 inquisitive, observant, witty, a thinker, was a misfit child 😊

Out of This World

We are the poorest land owners
even with the most precious minerals
buried below the surface of our land

We are illiterate, void of education
isolated from the global economy
Nature’s richness doesn’t translate
into food, shelter or safety here

The world comes to us
ask us to sell our backyard
for ten years’ worth of living expenses
We queue up to sign away our rights

In three years time
the world drives us out like slump dogs
from their luxury resorts
built on our backyard

We are out of this world
again

Looking Out

The world
is so busy
People are
so loud
I wonder
in silence

I am glad
though
It makes
the quietness inside
hurt less

Fruit

Every word
I wanted to say
to you
I said them
aloud
into the hole
I dugged
in the garden

I buried
all hope
deep inside
as a seed
Watered it
with patience

No matter
where
we will be
Time
will bear witness
to the fruit
of our
love

Behind Closed Doors

Say all the words
you need
to keep us tied
Silence is
a pair of
scissors

Tangle me
with your love
to keep
the door
ajar
Hatred is
a knot
blackens
the light

The Effervescent Bunch

The Six Sentence Story word prompt – Effectvescent

We are the middle aged youth who are energetic and effervescent.
We take life’s crisis head-on without whinging or whining.
We have enough discernment to choose which battle to fight.
We see wisdom in both the young and the old.
We learned to count our blessings than troubles.
We taste the goodness of life in the most ordinary way.

Fragmented Mind

To create
is to be in touch
with authentic self

Dissociation chokes creativity
instead, it births characters
through fantasy for survival

Mathematics of Love

I don’t love less
The other person loves more
So I hurt less

Tailor from above

Photo by Cassa Bassa in NSW Australia

Seashell Sadness

You sent me a seashell
wrapped in bubbles
with a note saying

“When you miss me
hold it close
to play one of
the love notes
I wrote you
buried in white sand
where I sat each day
by the ocean
calling out your name”

I left the seashell
on my bookshelf
next to the books
you sent me
two summers ago

I am becoming
a hobby collector
who accumulates
broken promises
and empty dreams

I diligently dust
any remnant of hope
off the shelf
like a devoted nun
at her daily supplication
while your consistent contacts
constructed an abbey
holding my heart
in hostage