Morn, afternoon, eve/ Food is served here/The menu fixed forever/ For the free-loading beneficiaries/ Requested to report in large numbers.
Salt, chilli, pepper are never/ Provided not are knives, forks/ And spoons part of the deal/ The food brought by bearers/ Is laid down for the banquet/ With utmost regard for the dignity/ Towards participants in its consumption.
The ever grateful guests never make/ Complaints of discontent, since they see/ That the fare served royally is cost free./ The large, spacious dining hall/ Is situated within a uniquely/ High, ugly, circular wall,/ Where entry is barred to "outsiders.”
Table manners are waived/ Etiquette is not expected, when/ The hungry guests go gung-ho/ Finishing the free edible fare/ Which beaks and talons rapidly tear.
It’s all about a dead Parsi/ Delighted in doing charity/ As well as playing an ideal role/ In the salvation of his soul/ At the dakhma at Doongerwadi.
RASHID G. KHOSRAVI
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