Mr. Nobody

by Smruti
(Pune (Maharashtra), India)

I know a funny little man
as quiet as a mouse,
who does the mischief that is done
in everybody's house
There's no one who has ever seen his face,
and yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
by MR. NOBODY

It is he who always tears our books
Who leaves the door ajar
He pulls the buttons from our shirts
And scatters the pins afar
That squeaking door will always squeak
For prithee don't you see
we leave the oiling to be done
by MR. NOBODY

He puts the damp wood upon the fire
That kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in the mud
And all the carpets soil.
The papers are always mislaid
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But MR. NOBODY

The fingermarks upon the door
By none of us are made;
We never leaves the blinds open
To let the curtains fade;
The ink we never spill;the boots
That lying around you see
Are not our boots;they belong
TO MR. NOBODY