Zen and the Art of Fart

(a story in 5 limericks)

The grandmaster seemed to have a sixth sense,
Meditating amidst jade and incense,
When in silence so profound,
The grandmaster made a sound,
That some of us described as flatulence.

We looked at each other in disbelief,
Still staying quiet like a falling leaf,
Resonance like assonance,
Surely sounded like flatulence,
When again, grandmaster found more relief.

But the grandmaster kept still nonetheless,
Deep in meditation with some finesse,
As we kept to reverence,
We could smell the flatulence,
Which the grandmaster would not address.

Our minds could no longer contemplate,
It had become difficult to meditate,
The grandmaster deep in thought,
By now had been clearly caught,
Gases he was trying to liberate!

But the grandmaster then it seemed,
Broke loud wind like we’ve never heard or seen,
Then with wisdom and guidance,
The grandmaster broke his silence,
And said: Excuse me, but I blame the beans.