6. Ode to IMF
By JH Sayyar
1
O Muse of debt, in pinstripe drape, descend
To thee, O IMF, my quill I bend
Thou lofty banker of the global stage,
Whose ledgers bind both prince and poet-sage!
With furrowed brows and suits of stately grey,
Ye land where hunger stalks the dawn of day.
Behold! The golden vaults your agents spill,
While paupers gnaw the dust of every hill
2
O custodian of coffers cracked and dry,
Whose aid arrives with clause and stealthy lie!
What thine hand give, swift thy hand retakes
In shadows long, the common backbone breaks.
Where once a nation dreams beneath the stars,
Now bloom your terms like economic scars.
Ministers toast with cups of poisoned cheer,
While children cry with bellies bare and sheer.
3
You send not food, but files and fluent men,
Who measure hope in billions, ink, and pen.
They speak of growth, of structural reform
Yet every home must brave another storm.
The fields are sold, the rivers leased away,
While public trust decays by light of day.
Elites grow fat on foreign cash and might,
While lamps of learning dim, and fade to night.
4
O IMF! Thou master of disguise,
In boardroom halls where truth and mercy dies
Curtail thy funds, anon, or bind them tight,
Let not thy loans be partners with the blight!
Restore the coin that built the tyrant’s chair,
Recall the wealth that vanished in thin air.
For though thy purse is deep, the people see
And justice grows, though silent it may be.
5
So here I end, with verse as blade and balm
Not war I call, but conscience, rage, and calm.
O may thy future write in brighter hand
Not theft, but grace, for every broken land.
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