The honest men are much denigrated;
The insincere are brought up to the fore;
The nexus is so well integrated,
And works dishonestly at every door.
They want the ones who act deaf, dumb and blind,
And serve a rubber-stamp to their designs;
If I collude, they will to me be kind,
But I'm a Master of symptoms and signs.
Oh what a wretched world, they have it made?
And loot the sick, downtrodden and the poor;
I curse them all; their sins will never fade,
Unless repent they at the Maker's door.
Freedom we got but still free we are not,
Is this our country's poor brethren's sad lot?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem