My yoga journey

Every day I'm given chances

To be bendy, strong and light.

But my splits are staged romances,

And my handstand - losing fight.

And my teacher lurks in corner

Like a hairy screechy owl..

I can't breath with ease anymore now

And my toes are clutching towel.

But I'm never in a hurry.

(In times of crisis I'm a cow.)

I would love being ordinary

But I'm told that's now allowed.

So I'm special, sweet and funny,
And I "OM" like dying swan.
Instead of sweat I'm dripping honey,
And in lion's breath I yawn.

I'm a rebel, and a yogi!
Deal with it!
This might be shocking,
But when I'm in downward doggie
I look cute as baby corgi.

In the past, in conversation
If someone said word "position"
I would think of sex, or chess.
But I'm yogi now, my mission
Is to deal with mindfulness.
So this harmless word "position"
Means a straight spine on flat ass.

Everything is fine, no, really,
I am dying, but that's cool.
At least in grave I will fart freely
Like the God intends me to!

I tell myself this every morning:

Spotlight NEVER is too bright!

And much like a little pony

I look left when I twist right. 

But here's a cautious word of warning:
If you tickle me I'll bite.

That’s exactly what’s expected

From a guy of modest height.
And a little death while sweaty
(they say) is practically implied.