Scholarship Is Poor Poem by Naveed Akram

I fancied myself a scholar one day,
With uncaring money the books displaced the books,
Which was assuredly first class, with no expense,
Like the cheap and deep recesses of Hell.
My boasting and reducing was incomplete,
Wasting money just was that funny with serving.
Various humans dissolved into a fluid of gases,
The teachers shamed the warriors, for the scholars brightened.
My scholarship came to rest as I plummeted
To the ground after the results had hatched,
The results were too poor and I am too poor.