A poem written by a poet, religious intolerance , necrophilia and allied things

Poet you have done it right
As a very very modern poet should write
Fusing elements that you have found
Floating in the thin air ; quite unbound!

You dared to put into your lyrical grace
Things that we the people oft do brace
In our daily lives, filled with false pride
Our acts of violence, vendetta and verbal jibes,

Some one talked of doing unholy things
Ghastly and diseased thoughts which bring
Shame in my blood, angst in my veins,

And I ask myself, am I getting poisoned too?
Am I losing my mind, slowly becoming death?
Am I making a compromise with intolerance?

But then , poet, you are a learned man,
You have written many things, seen through plans
Of political flagbearers changing attires
- One coat glittering for a ball,
Another subdued one perfect for a Fall,
Nehruvian hats, non nehru caps,
Saffron shirts guarded by black cats,
And so on and so forth happening oft,
Poet, don't say you're naive and ignorant of
How political affairs are handled here
Even that do I not seriously care,

But where is there that musical magic?
Where is there that piece of literature?
Poet, you got up in your sleeve
Several tricks with rhyme and motifs,

Come , pour them more in this muddled time,
Bring to fore the artistic sublime,
For that is what we can always claim to be true,
More than anything, the eternal view,

A yogi proper is a difficult find,
Necrophilia can only please the cursed mind,
A poem even more beautiful can perhaps make
A statement just, bold enough to unearth mistakes
Of the past, the present and even of our forefathers,

Now, don't say poet you do not know
Where from the wind of truth really blows,
And where does it really go?
To which frontier? To which heaven's gate?
Where a poem differs from the mundane rest?