My hopes to revive in life are sapped.
In a hostile desert I am trapped.
I ‘m on a harsh terrain
pleading drizzles of rain.
My God! Worries from my mind be scrapped.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
when developed nations collect the income tax effectively without creating much fuss, why do the Indians have such fear? Income tax raid to the homes of rich and famous, look so dramatic and it really shows the ineffectiveness of our laws pertaining to Taxes, but also the constitution.