My poems are bad
They are loosely written and follow no norm,
My poems are synthetic
They are forced to jargon and made to rhyme,
My poems are void of senses
They narrate of spring and never spreads the fragrance of its blooms,
My poems are void of emotions
They demonise sex and never plays the lyrics of love making,
My poems are lost
They never find a way into the hearts of men and women,
My poems are faulty sparks
They never live beyond the rough sheet and die in the trash.
—SHAMS
