You The Police, The Prisoner And The Judge Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

The world is a jail
And man a prisoner,
A convict and a criminal
In the eyes of the pleader.

The world is a prison
And Man a prisoner,
Convicted of and jailed,
Passing his days in the cell.

If the dacoits and thieves are not,
The police will be unemployed
And if the cases are not,
The judges and pleaders will not be.

Who will say sir to whom,
The thief to the policeman,
The convict to the judge, me Lord,
The pleader, but I do not who is whose sir?

I your sir, you my sir,
I sirring you and getting my works done,
My sons and daughters jobless
But my old-timer, illiterate peon’s sons in posting

As he has sirred all,
All as mother-father,
Wherever he had work
Or to get them done, even the ass too baap, mai-baap.

It is said, if you are in need of,
You may have to say mai-baap,
Even to all,
The ass too.

Similarly, the peon in the khaki dress
Not an old-timer obedient and submissive orderly,
But the mid-time, semi-urban peon,
Cleverly and a little-read, getting things done.

The pickpocket and thief’s sir is the police
And the police’s sir the court campus people,
Sir’s sir, I am a sir, you too are a sir, we all sirs.