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 Jalibbr br