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.