Taijas Sharma
One morning,
My landlord came and asked me,
“A new chair! Very well,
Gentleman,
What a shine!
What a carving!
Looks quite familiar though…
How posh!
But son,
Have some morals.
Of course, you brought it—
But do you really think it’s necessary?
A RUB-A-DUB to society?”
“Ah, Father,
My landlord,”
I told him very politely,
“I didn’t do anything.
Indeed, it has a new shine
And new carvings.
But no, no—
I didn’t bring it.
Honestly, Father,
My landlord,
It belongs to you.
Yes,
Because it was here
When I arrived.
Sure, I dusted it off,
And I polished it.
But for me?
Oh no, no,
I never brought it.
Remember you told me
How you threw it out
When a public march passed under your window?
Oh! How could I…
How could I do that?
As a matter of course,
I carved it,
And I fixed it.
Just remember, my lord,
How would you live in it?”
“O, SON!”
“O Father,
My lord.”
