Unfair Criticism Poem by Mohammad Yousef

By Mohammad Yousef

In the quiet corners of a poet's heart,
where words bloom like wildflowers,
Dennis Ryan, with a sharp tongue,
cast shadows over verses meant to dance,
declaring 'Her Fingers'
a tangle of nonsense,
crap wrapped in delusion,
as if my dreams were mere phantoms,
swaying in an ideal's embrace.

He orders me,
"Grow up, write wisely! "
But wisdom is not the chains of reality,
it is the freedom to soar,
to imagine worlds that shimmer,
to grasp at the threads of fantasy,
where truth and beauty intertwine,
and the mundane fades away.

I respect your view, Dennis,
even if it's a fleeting glance,
a snapshot in time,
short-sighted,
like a child peering through a foggy window,
unable to see the landscapes beyond,
the depth of meaning hidden in shadows,
where poets weave their truths,
not for the sake of validation,
but for the catharsis of expression.

You speak of addiction,
as if dreaming is a vice,
but what is life without a spark,
without the colors that bleed into the gray?
I am not the hero of 'Lolita, '
nor do I wish to be,
I am simply a voice,
a new leaf unfurling on Poem Hunter,
a canvas yet unpainted,
a journey just beginning.

So while you cast your stones,
your words like arrows aimed to wound,
know that I gather them not with bitterness,
but with understanding,
for each critique is a mirror,
reflecting your own fears,
your own limitations,
not the worth of my heart's labor.

You dwell in Poem Hunter,
a veteran with but twelve followers,
and here I stand,
a fledgling in the vast sky of verse.
So take a step back, dear critic,
and follow me into the depths,
where the echoes of poets whisper,
and discover how wrong you are,
how wrong we often are,
for in the vastness of expression,
there's room for us all,
to grow, to learn,
to embrace both fantasy and reality,
to weave a tapestry of words
that spark hope, provoke thought,
and perhaps—just perhaps—
to bridge the gap between our worlds.