Madam, should your ladyship excuse, This is not a petticoat world Where petty gossips of empty hours With whiffs of eau-de-cologne mix And spicy snacks with spicy talks.
Like a pussy cat perched On a soft sofa-cum-bed Of your next door friend Whom you inwardly hate Over a cup of tea You wage a war Against an absent adversary. And cabalistically You flay her flat.
It's a walkover and you win Which makes you feel fine Unmindful of the risk Of leaving behind Some useful weapons For future use of your friend.
Ours is a bigger world We are big guns With big whiskers We always talk big Instead of tea We drink coffee, For your information, it's free.
A barrel we can empty Not getting tipsy Provided again it is free We can demonstrate Our voracious taste When we are guests Provided once more We don't have to reciprocate.
Wars we also wage Which we win or lose Depending on which way the wind blows Or how we preplan our course Or what weapons we use Which, for your information, lady dear, You need not fear For our weaponry Differs from yours Not in kind but in degree.
And yet, Busy in our big world to belittle ourselves Indulgently we treat You as a small kitten While you think This fellow must be very dense For whatever he says Makes no sense.
But I would timorously say Should your ladyship excuse, It does make sense. If not on the same boat We are all on the same Bench.
Dwarf or tall We are equally small Smallest of course, of us all Is that monkey of a man Who with thin loins Thinks himself a Mastaan.
