<≪≪≪ The Sun Poem by Abdul Wahab

Just wake up in the morning
and see the sun has turned
into a big ball
crimson red
and imagine
how much fresh blood
previous day
he had taken
from the veins of poor men

the blood of rich
is gorgeous blue
and bitter like gourd
though it is sufficiently enough
yet he had not touched
‘cause in this world
Nothing is as delicious as
poor men's blood

still he is great
and superbly majestic
as so much he has given
and made rich so many
but for us he keeps
an abject misery

only for the rich
he bangs his head
and rises in the east
but he hides behind
a cloud whenever
we ask
our justified right

again at dusk
like a thief
he rises
with his eyes
fully red
to deprive men
poor and weak
such is his gory tendency
hundred times
pity on him!