He presided over all those arond
Him in much gusto, always talking
And noddong his head, the poor
Disappeared from his vision,
None but enemies fighting
His country and men he always
Thought of, which made him
Agreements on paper with
Heads of other nations,
While kissing or fondling a kid
For the telly, and the viewers liking,
always looking at his charts
Of popularity, which made him
Fight in alien lands, against their
culture, so dear to them,
though it killed many of sons
Of soil, while he merrily waved
To the crowds while alighting
Or climbing to his beloved Air foce one.
Ravikiran Arakkal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem