He makes rupees,Thousands a day.He doesn’t wander,Nor roam the streets.Instead, he sits on his throne,Commanding his workersTo carry out the tasks. He has a habit—A warm, inviting one—Greeting strangersAs if they belong to him.He answers complex questionsWith calm and steadiness,No longer panicsLike he did in the past. More a friend than a foe,He wouldn’t mindIf …