45. THE MIDAS TOUCH
When I want it the most,
I feel the most deprived.
When I like it the most,
It just fades into oblivion.
When I feel it the most,
It stabs me like thousand burnt needles.
When I dig deep for treasure,
It buries itself to unsurpassable heights.
When I stare into space,
It shoots missiles of polluted dust.
When I eat scarlet apple pies,
They turn into pieces of hard stone.
When I drive my dream Mitsubishi,
The twin rubber brakes snap into two.
When I sit on a racehorse,
It kicks like a donkey kissed with cigarette but.
When I plunge into still water,
An outburst of icy waves drown me down.
When I climb seemingly harmless barbed wire,
It spits electric sparks of bare current.
When I flex my voice for impression,
It blurts out discordant notes of music.
When I sip volumes of frosty milk,
It turns to fermented yellow sour cream.
When I run with the wind,
Showers of rain and chill, come pouring down.
When I kneel down on the satiny mattress,
Fluffs of cotton leak out in frenzy.
When I hand glide into deep valleys,
A barricade of sharp rock, causes me to nose dive.
When I sail in a luxury liner,
Water floods into cabin compartments.
When I try gesticulating for help,
My hands get trapped with spasmodic paralysis.
And when finally I feel like sobbing hysterically,
Arrays of tear ducts get blocked.
That’s what I call folks,
The one and only my kind of Midas Touch.
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