Keep Your Gills to Yourself (A Hilarious Tale of Mouthy Fish and Talkative Humans)

Even a fish,
yes, even a fish,
with a brain the size of a lentil
and memory shorter than a tweet—
would stay out of trouble
if it just
kept
its
mouth
shut.

But no.
That trout,
wide-eyed and waterlogged,
just had to open its mouth.
And now look—
fried, garnished with parsley,
posing with lemon wedges
on some Instagram foodie’s plate.

Let this be a lesson
to you,
me,
and the man on the bus
who insists on explaining cryptocurrency
at 7:42 a.m.


Words are strange.
They come galloping out of us
like toddlers on espresso.
We blurt.
We overshare.
We confess to things
even our therapists didn’t ask for.

“I once ate a whole box of laxatives
thinking they were chocolates,”
said Uncle Raj
at his own retirement party.
“During the national anthem,”
he added.

Why, Uncle?
Why not be a fish?


My friend Sheila,
a walking megaphone in heels,
once got into a brawl
with the sweet old librarian
because she said,
“Large print books are for cowards.”

The librarian,
named Mildred,
flung a copy of Pride and Prejudice
straight at her face.

“I just said what I thought,”
Sheila said, icing her nose.
Yes, darling.
That’s the problem.


Even parrots,
trained for mimicry,
sometimes stop mid-sentence
as if to say,
“This sounds legally unsafe.”

But not us.
No, we spill
everything.

We whisper sweet gossip
into microphones
that turn out to be live.
We text secrets
meant for one person
to the office group chat.

“Your boss wears a wig.”
Send.
Instant promotion
to the unemployment line.


And why do we speak
during horror movies?

“Don’t go in there,”
we shout at the screen,
as if the ax-wielding maniac
cares for our input.
And yet—
we shout.
We judge.
We narrate.


There’s a reason
why monks take vows of silence.
It’s not spiritual—it’s strategic.

They saw one too many WhatsApp groups
and said,
“Nope. I’m out. Eternal quiet for me.”


If fish had Facebook,
you can bet
they’d still be in trouble.

Status update from Goldie:
“Feeling cute. Might swim into a net later.”

Comment from Tuna69:
“Bro, that net is fake. Wake up, sheeple.”

SalmonRebellion posts a reel:
"Escaping upstream like my ex left our marriage."

And boom.
Sushi for dinner.


Let’s face it—
we talk too much.
And yet, somehow,
say too little.

We say “I’m fine”
when we’re crumbling
like that last papad in the tin.

We say “no offense,”
and immediately follow with
maximum offense.

We say,
“It’s just a joke,”
when it clearly required
a written apology
and two therapy sessions.


But oh—
there is a sweet joy
in keeping quiet.

Have you tried nodding
and sipping tea
when the room explodes in chaos?

It’s glorious.

Someone says,
“I think pineapple belongs on biryani,”
and instead of engaging,
you simply blink
and let the silence
do the violence.


People don’t trust silence.
It unnerves them.
They think you're plotting.
They fill the space.

“Do you hate me?”
they ask.

“No,” you reply.
“I’m just being a fish today.”


Sometimes silence
is the kindest thing.

Especially when you want to say,
“Your baby looks like Winston Churchill
mid-tax audit,”
but you just
smile
and say,
“What a strong grip!”


Or when your friend sings
and hits a note
only dogs can hear—
and instead of
pointing that out,
you clap.

You’re not fake.
You’re evolved.


There are entire wars
that could’ve been avoided
if someone just shut up
two minutes earlier.

Imagine—
Helen of Troy
scrolling through Tinder
instead of launching a thousand ships.

Imagine Caesar
saying “I need a nap”
instead of heading to the Senate.

History books would be pamphlets.


My grandma used to say,
“If you have nothing good to say,
say it in a diary,
and then burn it.”

She was wise.
Also suspiciously well-versed
in fire safety.


So yes—
be the fish.

Observe.
Swim.
Blink slowly.

Avoid hooks
with shiny worms
named “Tell me what you really think.”


But also—
know when to break silence.

Sometimes the world
needs the truth,
needs a laugh,
needs a voice
that isn’t just noise.

Just…
choose the right time.

Not during weddings.
Not at funerals.
Not while your dentist’s hand
is in your mouth.


Remember:
Even a fish
wouldn’t get into trouble
if it kept its mouth shut.

But you, dear human—
you glorious, impulsive, babbling creature—
will keep trying anyway.

Because unlike fish,
you have opinions,
tea to spill,
and an unshakable belief
that the group chat
needs your commentary
on everyone’s relationship.


And that’s fine.

Just maybe
practice closing your mouth
right before
you open it.

Like a fish
who survived
long enough
to write this poem.

#BeTheFish #Funny #Poem #Punchlines #KeepYourMouthShut #Humor #LaughOutLoud #Satirical #WittyWisdom #Poetry #OversharingProblems #ComicRelief #Parody #SpeakLessSmileMore #LifeLessonsWithLaughter