The Stolen Moustache The Head offices Big Boss, a kind and gentle soul, He never raised his temper or ordered heads to roll, Until one day - a curious site, he acted rather rash, While sitting quietly in his chair, his mind had gone abash. He startled awake with his arms and legs stretched, His eyes grew larger as his stomach had wretched. He suddenly screamed with a quake in his call Come pick me up quickly! Before I fall! The people around him ran upstairs and down, Calling for a policeman, or doctor in town. Pick him up carefully! hes likely to bite! Said a worried employee whos only half right - The Head offices big boss, had made a strange claim My mustache has been stolen and youre the ones to blame! To lose an entire mustache is really quite absurd, His mustache was in fact, in place! (a mirror had affirmed). Angry as an eggplant, frying deep in oil, The big bosss blood had come to a boil, I know what youre all like, you dont fool me, Your mustache is like a broom, unkempt and dirty! If you say I keep my mustache like a milk mans - all ragged and worn, Ill butcher you like animals, and then youll know my scorn! He wrote in his notebook citations and fines, With a cough and a gasp, he wrote one more line: These knuckle-headed bumpkins, all crooked and vile, You give them an inch, and theyll take a mile! He scowled at the group, thinking what to do next, I should grab them by their collars and grate their heads with their desks!†A mustache is a funny thing, it cant be bought or sold, It tells the story of a man – be he rich, or poor; young or old. The Bengali version is gonf churi. Translation by Sujoy and Chandana Chatterjee
Posted on: Wed, 19 Mar 2014 17:39:19 +0000
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