There is music, poetry and dances,
Lies, flattery too...
What if I'm abused for my Stanzas -
What I wrote is true.
I saw a May Day celebration -
Now my head whirls.
I'd gladly break my back embracing
Those pretty girls.
Can "whimperers" ever, I wonder,
Visualise
Balakhani resplendent under
Those sunny skies?
Such scenes bring songs to the heart springing.
I thrilled to view
Those 40,000 marching, singing
And drinking, too.
My verse! Don't be too Left or modish!
Simpler is best.
It was the health of oil we toasted
And of the guests.
The first toast of the day proposing
My arm I bent
To drain the glass, congratulating
The government.
The second toast, alert lest drink should
Trouble provoke.
I proudly drank to the working-class
While someone spoke.
I raised my third glass, feeling slightly
A potentate,
To changes that might the peasant's lot
Alleviate.
Drink deep, my heart! But not point-blank
To cause my death...
That's why the fourth toast which I drank
Was to myself.