Brushing aside her soul,
Your vision
Of the Goddess 
Skinny, skin-deep 
Fades into a spook 
Of bloodless strokes;
More a stroke of genie 
Than deep truth of seeing -
Your brush
Has mired the light 
And stirred a libido 
Not
Fulsome but loathsome. 
Freedom of suppression
Of
The pure angelic charm 
Of the Goddess of arts'
Eros-bitten, 
You are blind
To 
Her lotus and the veena
And
Deaf to those sweet airs 
She thrums to delight.
Take not your cue 
To
Splash your outrage 
From
The sculpted chips 
Of concupiscence
From our fanes -
But look into your soul
And limn -
Then your sleazy surface self 
Shall turn whole
Steeped 
In the bliss of the essence
Of your own self,
The sara-swa.
Stirring the tints
To life resplendent
A brush with a kitsch
Is
A limming travesty of art