A witty man in a tavern spoke with a tongue untamed:
‘The ruler of our state is a beggar unashamed;

How many go bare-headed to deck him with a crown?
How many go naked to supply his golden gown?

The blood of the poor turns into his red wine;
And they starve so that he may in luxury dine.

The epicure’s table is loaded with delights,
Stolen from the needy, stripped of all their rights.

He is a beggar who begs money, be it large or small,
Kings with royal pomp and pride, in fact, are beggars all.’

Website Version 4.0 | Copyright © 2009-2016 International Iqbal Society (formerly DISNA). All rights reserved.