Often you picked choicest of words
from the cluster of flowers of my blossomed garden
they fragrance of altruism
Pick pocketing the few saved pennies of thoughts
from the remuneration of my expressions
which loved to jingle
in the profundity of
my creation
snatching the ideologies
presenting in the coterie
bouquet of compliments, applause,
awaits at your doorstep
with bestowed honour
…
a swindler,
plagiarist,
or
a weak feeble warrior in life
how do I call you
a mere
borrower of emotions?
-
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soumyav 
I really liked the message in your poemSoumya!
It’s a powerful message. They are a shame to the world of creativity since they cannot do anything on their own.