it’s what y o u want –

to feel good when the tide is high

surf towards the moon!

a tugging, a coherent not possible

gets shut down.

towards the sky, sun, stars

celestial objects bow to thee

and it feels good to be heard

by?

y o u.

the odds are dismal, the possibility is there,

the probability is you would land on your face.

but hey these minuscule matters are for small minded

folks who achieve naught in life!

not for titans that shoot lightnings,

you’re the exception, it still feels good.

and it goes the other way too of course,

when fear grips, the walls walks towards

you disappear, no where to be found.

the universe cares not for ant like life,

you in a nutshell.

phantasm, mirrors, cracked mirrors

and your face scattered in little pieces

flashed across a dozen beliefs, unreal.