There lived long years hence a sage mendicant, <br />To him came a village inhabitant, <br />Who pleaded how his place terrorised was <br />By a venomous mouth biting sans cause; <br />The holy him, adjured snake not to bite, <br />To rise yon nature his habit to fight. <br /> <br />Years later when the holy man returned, <br />He found tables had a full circle turned: <br />The snake badly beaten, hunted more than in hunt, <br />Oath blindly held, lesson not duly learnt; <br />Oh, what happened my child, as the sage spake, <br />Somewhat hesitant said the dying snake: <br />I stopped biting, being bad, as was told, <br />They battered me freed of fear, newly bold. <br />The sage said shaking head in disbelief, <br />Here’s my child how to heel from thine grief: <br />I had told ye to stop biting, <br />Did I e’er stop thee from hissing? <br /> <br />But I have an odd takeout to take <br />From what this story might to us bake: <br />If humour were to reach its height, <br />It should just hiss short of a bite. <br /> <br />No one marooned is on a barren isle, <br />Nor is the world a burial ground; do smile; <br />Humour is hiss undue pressure to salve, <br />As is a pressure-cooker’s safety valve <br />To let off unwanted steam— by laughing, <br />To soothe the stressful minds from exploding!<br /><br />Aniruddha Pathak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/humour-s-a-pressure-cooker-valve/
