Practical

 

Gold, if pure, is hardly usable,

As strong as it gets, but it ain't 'practical'...

Though its self-righteous pride is justified,

It is so valuable, that it's condemned to hide...

 

But when contaminated, it gets ready to be shaped,

World bends and turns it, till jewelry is made...

While the imperfect material adorns pimps and kings,

Our perfect friend is shunned in darkness that the locker brings…

 

Such is the way of this double-faced world,

Preaching purity while not able to bear the truly pure…

Here purity languishes with its expectations of recognitions,

While impurities adorn the necks of its equally impure men…