Real needs no amplification
no publicity servants extolling virtues
nor a spin doctor to oil afterimages and distortion
to the elaborate codes the tales is integrity in substance

The snake oil Venetian hawkers
offer their counterfeits to sooth their angsts
dead hearts throbbing cadavers living anti-clockwise shrills
the restless confused ghosts clawing significance in lowly pits

Mangled lives selling mangled lores
desperate malignant patients adverse to curative truths
for a lifetime of illusions grew delusions in mindless caste
Blind singers becoming profligate sight healers of third eyes storm

No bother for what better to do
when ambition and progress refuses mobility for blames
and the village of haters welcomes and feed self inflicted lameness
whilst teaching self-loathers to sling mud n project owned nightmares

Truth resides in visible parades
needing no beggars to throw garlands in wake
will stride openly without twists or turns, unashamed and proud
to all n sundry it invokes, bring out yours for I am able to show you  mine