He arrived crying, but when tickled he laughed…

Was it the poking fingers, or plain witchcraft?

He mused about it, but didn't get wiser.

Half-heartedly he joined all the clowns,

Who gathered around from all the big towns,

At the University of Laughter.

He was soon introduced to all the staff.

Life promised to be one big merry laugh,

Filling the halls from the floor to rafter.

They taught all tricks for him to clown around,

So he dutifully hopped, laughed and clowned

At the University of Laughter.

There never was time to stop for a cry,

Or ask the questions: how, where to and why?

The merry-go-round was getting faster…

Even with dark clouds, right above his head,

He kept on laughing, never looking sad,

At the University of Laughter.

Finally, on the day he qualified,

He stopped laughing and cried and cried and cried…

The laugh stopped there from and ever after.

He left. Walked away, without souvenirs,

With broken heart and his eyes full of tears,

From the University of Laughter.

© P. J. Oszmann (2005) (Based and developed from an idea for a story, sketched in fragments, in Hungarian, during my University days in Budapest (1952-56)

© Illustration: Digital photo of original pencil sketch (1970. [Not intended for the illustration of this poem]) reduced and enhanced in Photoshop (2006)