Poem By Khurshid Alam

I’ve seen
many men of lesser quality
rise upwards
and have immense influence
on the people around
and many others of best quality
fall down
under the excuse of recession
when job is badly appraised
and responsibility blindly assessed
and salary adversely reduced.

A nude man
barely in skin
shies from people
tries to hide everything
so many secrets
fears to share with others
the poor chap letting no chance to disclose
what he has, what not
but poor in the effort
he wears all that he has
the skin covers him all over.

The politicians
first woo the people
then the parties, leaders and independents
to make a government at the Center
they refresh the old promises of road, clothes and house
and add to give power, control economy and guarantee security
And bucks
to the fellow politicians
and creamy posts to some, ministries to the others
but people always find themselves
on the margin
once the vote is over
they are again in the queue
waiting for the next hustings
when they would get the chance
to teach them once more
what pain it is
to go back from the words
while the parties enjoy
the deal they gain.
Should each of us not flung a party and bargain
road, clothes, house, power, economy and security?
An India with one billion parties will be a fine idea.

Note: Publsihed in Muse India, Sep-Oct 2009.

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Other poems of ALAM

A Drop Of Dew

A dropp of dew can enliven
the thirsty buds
can cause a new life
can create a reason.

The Mysterious Man

My mother scoffed at us for ours no fault
She had put sweets from offerings in a box
To distribute the sacred eating equally among us all:
“All should have equal favour”, she taught.

An Inclusive India

Ajnabi is registered a Christian at school
And bargains exemption of fee by half
And all miscellanies full; and sings hymns
To Jesus and celebrates Christmas.

In Disguise

They take shelter in the auto rickshaws
in the daylight and sit in much calm
in much commune with the police on patrol
and invite the passers-by at Laldarwaza.

I’m Slave To Myself

I’m slave to myself.
I’m slave to my desire:
My desire is boundless.
I’m slave to my fantasy:

Weave Dreams Into Act

We sleep to dream
We sleep to dreams
We wake to act
We wake to facts.