Humor, they say,
Is a state of mind;
And more than that,
It is a cusp,
A way of looking at life
When nothing to be done.

Humor blooms whenever
An exuberance of intellect
Is able to flay its own ideals,
For humor is nothing else
But intellect slashing at itself.

In any period of history,
When mankind was able
To perceive its own futility,
Its own follies and smallness,
A humorist appeared in no time.

All politicians and bandits
Have become great humorists,
Because they have been imbued,
Directly or otherwise,
With the absurdities of life
Viewed from their own stage.