Poem

Who are these men?

What are they to me,

These dead men From a land across the sea?

They dared against the British Raj

To raise their hand.

If my own countrymen decreed their death

Why should I take a stand?

But

The British ruling class

That these men defied

Plundered with sword and gun and sly intrigue.

Their modern spawn

Smile with imperialist pride

And, guns behind their backs

And lackeys in their league,

Plunder away still more

And keep the plundered poor.

That class,

Born in my land of birth,

Are not my kith and kin!

My eyes must not be dazzled

By shared whiteness of their skin!

For the great imperial heel,

That straddles o’er the globe

And tramples the oppressed of foreign lands,

Takes blance from the other boot we feel.

On both its feet imperialism stands.

Small comfort that we bear not all the weight,

And that the heel grinds harder across the sea,

For the lightest boot is heavy,

And the prize of freedom great.

So we must see imperialism fall.

The British working class must take its stand

And recognise its common cause with all

Who take the sword of freedom in their hand.

On! Onward then with revolution’s tide,

And, though each stage befits its time and place,

Who fights our foe is fighting by our side,

It matters not their colour or their race.

Such men were Udham Singh and Bhagat Singh,

Martyrs not just of India’s freedom fight

But Heroes of all workers and oppressed.

So let their names unite us in ourmight

As, thinking not in terms of black or white

But “Who is enemy and who is friend?”,

We struggle to achieve our common end.

Death to imperialism! is our cry.

It is our common banner.

Raise it high!