The English Limerick Poem by Zamir Osorov

There is flourished country-garden named England,
where various skeletons, monsters and vampires
have kept carefully in cupboards, or chained and locked in frames of strict rules,
when in our own countries all our demons, witches, gins and gools,
freely walking along our streets,
feeling comfortable in our flats,
in our politic, states offices, private and common lives
and in religious ceremonies and others treats
and traditions.
English no better than Kyrgyz
and no steeper
they are just trained
to hold themselves
and their powers strictly.

In their natures
in the deep corners of their souls
burned the same passions
that outbursted
from our bosom
as protuberances
making many destractions

There is flourished such country as England
well trained to protect themselves and all citizen nerves and gangliers,
from emotions, quarrels and others untied extravagancies,
and with that aims covered by neat parks, gardens and squares
as one wholly sanatorium
grown and build with effort and zeal of many generations,
where now walking and resting in the end of days
very nice and polite misters, gentlemen, misses and ladies.