When we arise to wake the poor, the have nots <br />A beeline to the police station they make, these wealthy sots <br /> <br />They say that God this wealth to them allots <br />Oh these trite excuses, oh these dusty plots <br /> <br />Night and day the working men’s blood they suck, o poet of the East <br />These congenital liars, with the vileness of a beast <br /> <br /> <br />[Translation of Urdu Poem 'Yaum-E Iqbal Par']<br /><br />Habib Jalib<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-iqbal-centenary/
