The Assessee cribs

For every paisa I earn

You tax me a rupee

Every pie of which impinges me as a thorn

But I can’t help it. Your IT Act

Is so full of jargon that not a thing I can discern

Or complain about

Can you feel my heart burn

While I file my tax return?

There is no income you spare

Neither saving nor expenditure

Gift, wealth, and fringe benefits

Entertainment, shares and debenture

True, there are exemptions

Some income from agriculture

But you even compute that

To put me in a higher tax slab

There also are certain deductions

On conditions that I insure

But if I need an insurance policy

It’s against your torture

You leach!

As if my purse and blood weren’t enough,

You barge into my house,

To conduct surveys, search and seizure