Smallness of Life

From hounds of dog,

To game of thrones,

a human can be looked,

as an animal,

who aspires for taste,

like a dogs, cats, and others,

he aspires for success and vastness,

as do other animals fight for their claims,

a little larger in scale,

a little grand in scale,

but in terms of experience,

a dog experiences same joy, maybe more,

in smearing a flesh, tasting a food, 

as does a human on going on a taste bud,

or establishing a supremacy, going up in position,

or breaking barks of sensual colors of life,

But then what is it, that makes a human different?

Infact he is inferior to animals, 

who go through thrills of life,

better than human, going

through ups and down,

Human being is not just the color,

but he feels it deeper, 

can experience another sense of intimancy,

of a tastelessness, of stopping of wheels,

of utter silence, amids the roars of life,

can just feel the smallest of color,

in smallest of things, by will,

can taste the colors of different flavour,

not like the beastily, but corrosponding 

to a tone of subtler realm, of some  

part of life, as if it is it's own part sometimes,

entering fields which may not be tastiest acc to immidiate bursts of pleasure,

but intense involvement of a different kind, ascribing no form,  not even of a colored emotion,

just sheer experience which one doesn't even count, rules internally, knowingly or unknowingly,

It is good to have colors,

in the most tough to good times,

it is good to do things enjoyingly,

but at the same time to be aware of them,

and have a distance of them,

because problem with human as said by wise is,

that he has his legs on both ends,

one in phantasmagorical creation

and other in source of  it,

you can get stuck up with one emotion,
for days, knowing it is wrong, but still,
can't getting it out of head, or one thought,
a problem,disease,etc which intrigues a hell out of you.

he can't live in creation infinitely,

because everything in world,

is tasty, sweet, suspenseful or loathful,

but still it is limited by the very form it takes,

and so to be with the source, and yet play the creation,

like a small play which comes and goes, for little while,

in vastness of time and space,

keeps bouncing here and there,

suspending the animation here and there. . .