The Huntsmen Poem by Atif Saqi

Here are some hunters
Hunting since ages,
Not in jungles
but in cities,
Not the animals
but the humans.

They hunt not daily
But once in years,
And not like robbers or thieves
But
Like nobles,
With the consent of their prey.

A spear of false promises,
A knife of sweet words,
A rope of chanting slogans,
And eye-blinding dust
All they keep to hunt the prey,

And the one whose ARMS work the best
And lead him to success
Eats his prey for years.

The losing hunters
With anger & despair,
Rebuke the successful one
And wish for his death
To accelerate their turn
To eat the same.

Same it goes
Time & again
And same hunters take their turns
one after another.
Same are the hunters
And same the hunted.
Neither the hunters feel obsessed
with the same game
Nor the hunted
Recognise the hunters
And shake off the same 'bate'.

The hunters don't call the game 'hunting'
but 'politics'
And themselves, not 'hunters' but 'politicians'.