The problem, with the, purist’s means
Is its fear, to see; be ever seen
With those thoughts, in moral quarantines –
“Why bare, the truth, if it, looks obscene”!
Political lies, to home-grown hypocrisies, …
Gay rights, to feminist debauchery, …
God’s fear, to faith’s, cherished disease, …
Why baring truth, be a blasphemy!
When art becomes, a banal lie
Prettified to, piteous proportions
We lose, an age, to glorify
New rites of, ‘ethical distortions’!
No perspective, is near perfection
Without the fears, we dare, to name
Redeem, that ‘dreadful’ dimension
‘Sin’s’ rendition, From The Closet Of Shame!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra