Circus

Stands a beautiful tree firmly with its gracious branches and boughs On a bank of a running or on an edge of round pond May be it is on the skirt of triangular lake Natural or artificial Or it is in the middle of an esplanade It can grow anywhere, In the moon or in your orchard The place where it will grow is none of your business Just see its beauty and show thankfulness Feel its usefulness and express gratitude But here it is not my job to describe the charms of a tree Neither is it to make you understand how to appreciate delicacy or loveliness As other poets delightfully do in their handsome and alluring drabs That duty I left gladly long before for idiots As I got another work of other kinds Another responsibility, another task of other types To split the beans and peel the skins To smooth the bones and puncture the balloon Wherever I find stupidity, nonsense and bloody foolishness In the middle of telling you these serious issues I see a spectacle of a donkey Near the valley among the green leaves In their words, in between their lips At the tip of their tongues, at depth of your throats And below in the meadow in the bushes of shrubs and grasses A circus is run by the jokers and baboons The promoters and the patrons of the parade try hard To catch my precipitated attention and perpetuated concentration Baffled I remain and look at the sky before taking a sigh I decided not to give favourable response as wise men know This is neither my kind of monkey nor is this my kind of show.