Problem

We have a problem, people.
The ocean inside me churns
Its not at peace with itself
it whips up tornadoes
and conjures tsunamis.

It refuses to stay still
blind to the fact
that what hypes it up
what causes this unrest
is the quest for serenity itself.

My stomach ties itself up,
In a knot. And it does to me
something like pain,
but not quite the same.

My body trembles and the feet
struggle to hold on
lest my world tumbles.

Maybe I need to get away, people
Need to get away from this mad, mad, world
my heart goads me on becoming an ascetic
but the mind argues that I am not a coward.

But how shall I stand my ground
when the ground itself topples?
So I shall lift the burden off myself
of making a decision,
stay where I am, and request you all
Get away from me, people.

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