|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!