Complaint

What is poor India’s fate who knows? for up till now It has been a glittering jewel in some crown!

Its peasant is a corpse that some grave has disgorged The corpse’s tattered shroud is still inside the ground

His soul and his body are in pawn: Alas, neither the residence nor the resident survives

It is you who became the willing slave of Europe: My complaint is against you, it is not against Europe