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.
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