Saheb Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

If you call me a saheb, only then I am a saheb
Otherwise not
I am not a saheb if you call me not,
Yes, Sir; Yes, Sir
Going after me
Yes, sir; yes, Sir,
But God knows who is whose Sir,
Who is whose Boss,
Yes, Boss; my, Boss,
Let there be a change,
I your saheb, you my saheb,
I your boss, you my boss.

But be sure of it, for to be a saheb,
You give me a chair to sit on
And a table
With the calling bell, a paper weight,
An ash-tray, a glass with water
And a waiter waiting for,
Attending on me
And my room lying it curtained
Only then I can be your boss,
None but I your boss
But when taking leave of you,
Handshake with me
For the joke cracked with you, friend!

My car car is waiting,
May I drop you there?
Thank you, the reply.
Came in answer to that
And I looking to the Almighty
For the thanks received
And the blessing showered upon,
My audience, don; t mind
What did I say to my friend,
I am but a Hindustani saheb
Not an English saheb,
But let it be,
A saheb a saheb,
Why to discuss it in public?