A nip here, a tuck there
Such is how the poems are slaughtered
Tenses are fine
Spellings too
Conjunctions and line breaks have to
As the fingers sift through
And the words appear
On touch keyboards or physical ones
A rewrite is the worst
A poet must do
It is the equivalent of infanticide
For each poem is a child
And poets are never on display
A poem need not comply
For a poet's mind does never do
If you set out to write
Let it be a barrage
Of the mind, the soul, the heart too
But if you should plan for one such
You are only an engineer
Poet not.
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