*our Indian Politicians*

Poem By Mohammad Akmal Nazir

Clad in white clothes from top to bottom,
These bright smiling faces are the symbol of our politics,
They determine the destiny of our country,
They are worried over the country's progress
As well as their commission,
They get in the work budget,
They are busy in siphoning off people's money.
Their exterior is very bright
But the interior is very dark,
They are eating away the country
As the white ant
eats away the wood.
They are hounds in the guise of
Who eats away its own little ones.
Their palatial residence,
Their fleet of luxury cars,
Are evident
Of their illegitimate earnings,
They can put even their country at stake
To serve their petty interest.
They make people fight
In the name of religion and region,
But all is not alike,
There are few among them who are really
Concerned for the future of the country,
The country is progressing by means of such leaders,
They have love and care for the country,
They are always ready to make sacrifice for the mother land,
But their number is so low that we could count them on fingers.

Comments about *our Indian Politicians*

Some care? I can't think of any names...Its an international business named democracy, the old politicians are stashing money away in the Swiss banks and the young go around showing off their sympathy in the villages, that's it, they are politicians of a 'democratic' India. And we the countrymen are the cribbers, that's it. That is India. Sorry I can't get angrier at politicians.
how true! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! its a common curse now........ u wanna snide anyone call him a politician.......even my kids identify them so.......so sad.
Politicians the world over are crooks, and in America we have some of the biggest. The world was better off when they were statesmen. A ten my friend.
good stylistic features in your poem. impacting too.

2,2 out of 5
16 total ratings

Other poems of NAZIR

*a Humble Complaint*

You could have been more polite observing me,
Your harsh words have left
An indelible impression,
Hatred can be won by love alone,

A Busy Street

Shameless, nude always invites
To outrage her modesty,
Smooth and grey
who would not be


The blow was very cruel,
The bud could not blossom,
It died underneath,
And who cares?

*a Farmer*

Clad in shabby dress, stinks sweat,
A churlish who works day and night
In the field,
To speed up the pace of progress,

A Bitter Truth

The life will remain the same,
You will remain the same,
They will remain the same,
The world will remain the same

A World Of Treason

Let's see the world with an open eye,
And take it as a bivouac not destination,
Its love is false and nature sly,
It's an obstacle in the way of emancipation.