II. Humor

Tsars, kings, emperors,
rulers of all the world,
have commanded parades
but couldn't command humor.
In the palaces of the great,
spending their days sleekly reclining,
Aesop the vagrant turned up
and they would all seem like beggars.
Aesop the vagrant turned up
and they would all seem like beggars.
In houses where a hypocrite had left
his wretched little footprints,
Mullah Nasredin's jokes would demolish
trivialities like pieces on a chessboard!
Mullah Nasredin's jokes would demolish
trivialities like pieces on a chessboard!
They've wanted to buy humor,
but he just wouldn't be bought!
They've wanted to kill humor,
but humor gave them the finger.
Fighting him's a tough job.
They've never stopped executing him.
His chopped-off head
was stuck onto a soldier's pike.
But as soon as the clown's pipes
struck up their tune,
he screeched out:
“I'm here!”
and broke into a jaunty dance.
Wearing a threadbare little overcoat,
downcast and seemingly repentant,
caught as a political prisoner,
he went to his execution.
Everything about him displayed submission,
resignation to the life hereafter,
when he suddenly wriggled out of his coat,
waved his hand
and — bye-bye!
They've hidden humor away in dungeons,
but they hadn't a hope in hell.
He passed straight through
bars and stone walls.
Clearing his throat from a cold,
like a rank-and-file soldier,
he was a popular tune marching along
with a rifle to the Winter Palace.
He's quite used to dark looks,
they don't worry him at all,
and from time to time humor
looks at himself humorously.
He's eternal.
Eternal!
He's artful.
Artful!
And quick,
And quick!
he gets through everyone and everything.
So then, three cheers for humor!
He's a brave fellow!