Am An Immoral Poet

Am a spoiled poet Not for the reason that I take bribes Nor sells I hate or promote unsellable I do not sleep with the silvery light of the moon in a bed Yet I gone spoiled on the very day The warmongers played my songs on the battlefield. Am an immoral poet Not for the reason that I write profanity Or break the promise given to my love Yet I become indecent in the very moment When I could not tell them the ways of peace Even I was on the high and decorated stage. Am a failed poet Not for the reason that I could not kindle the fire of love In the drops of water or in the hearts of stones Or could not run passion in the wavy souls of oceans and hills Yet I become unsuccessful on the day I could not tell leaders that lying is a sin.