I am still drifting to the time of being accused for portraying a lie. Something in my mind still doesn’t allow the shaking of that thought. I wander again and again on to the line that said “Don’t you lie”. My mind has a sudden urge towards asking that, what is the escalating truth then?
My intellect is swinging on to the all the times that I had known truth. To all the times that I had sensed the truth beneath the skin of all the false that occurred. I can totally relate to the falseness that can creep amidst the faltering situations, the only way brain reacts to it is to surrender and believe it. I am skeptical if that little thumping thing on the left side of our chest does that. (Call it heart, I don’t quite trust to call it that way but, call it a scream that you do not bother to listen most times).
As I muddle over it, truth appears as the silent sea that has ruffled waves on its surface, and beneath lays a calm core as deep as it can be. Sometimes nurturing all the beings that come to its surface, and sometimes shedding them off towards the deserted shore. The truth pretty much has the face like that of a sea (ruffled surface that you panic to dive in and a calm core that nurtures its dwellers once you gather the courage). It can either drown you or can let you survive. It is all that casts ekistics amidst all the loathing and yet is as perennial as love.
I am no judge here I believe and neither are the survivors like me. But my sanity lies in realizing what dwells inside the agonizing soul.
Like the sand and the sea,
The silver moon and the starry night,
The river and the shrine,
It stands tall and divine.
There is no truth that lays its face in between the lines of a tattered page, or on the edges of a torn book. It is a notion of complex bearings from the under – verving self.