How Old is this Art

I am reading "A River Sutra", by Gita Mehta. It is tales within a tale, on the ways of human heart, the narrator being on a pilgrimage in the mountains of Satpuda and Vindhyachal, at the banks of Narmada. One of the stories is about a blind child, a Music Teacher and Amir Rumi, a Sufi saint who lived some seven hundred years ago.
So I was searching for Amir Rumi's Poetry, and discovered Amir Khusrau's. An interesting "Paheli" a small riddle, made me think about the tradition of cracking PJs. Here it is (and here's more)

Jab woh moray mandir aaway, sotay mujhko aan jagaway;
Padhat phirat woh birah ke achchar, Aye sakhi sajan? Na sakhi machchar!
(Whenever he visits my place, wakes me up from the sleep,
he sings the song of separation; is it the beloved, oh friend? No, its mosquito.)

I think at times, PJs are way to laugh off something that is on your mind. Giving a twist to thoughts in humorous direction, relieves you from the weight of the prevailing thoughts. May be it's a therapy. Who knows !
(By the way, don't take this junk from my mind to heart. It is just a silly muse, only meant to amuse, not to wonder, because if you wonder, there will be thunder. Ah. I suck at rhyming)