Humour's Not For Half-Wits Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

To funny gags, doggy tales of old mould,
We wax worthy as if of vintage wines,
Comic jokes and yarns nearing their punch lines,
Seem like a see-thru dress though made of gold.
Wit is rare art, best enjoyed if alive,
There's no alibi for not being there,
It's no tail wagging a wag acting naïve,
Like sex scene, what unfolds in time is fair.

I'd much rather for well-bred humour die,
That dies today a slow tortuous death,
Yet, slapstick raucous farce jostles, and vie
For space with humour, tired and short of breath.
Humour's hardly for half-wit raw rookies—
Oven-like that makes freshly baked cookies.
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Sonnets | 01.04.09 |