A Taste of Truth

The lovely thing about a myth is that it’s perfectly playable. You can literally play with it as it’s dimensions are endless. What makes a mythology true is the same thing that makes a fact false. The concept of going on with the thesis is that if we go deep into analysis, truth is but the biological mother of fiction with falsehood being the seemingly rebellious stepson. However if we have to function on the definition of “truth” itself, the good son is the Luciferous one. We fear truth more than his scheming step brother. Why? Because he brings mischief. Truth is the one who deliberately puts up a mask, the cloud that innocently passes away and points everyone to falsehood. The funny part is truth is the liar whereas his sibling isn’t much of a faker. Concept promotes history and history as well as current affairs repeatedly proves one thing and that being: Truth itself is so contradictory that it’s almost like a lie trying to redeem itself. It is a confused entity amongst us who suffers from dissociative personality disorder. However at the same time what makes the nicely brought up child a more severe liar is the causality from his constancy when it comes to change. The good boy has his prince-hood which is more a curse to him, giving him his unsaintly desires to change every second. Falsehood is the troubling anti-hero.

Everyone brings in animals in their frequent word-fights all the time, taking that into consideration “Truth” is the snake that feeds on the eggs of it’s own kind. Falsehood is a panther, the honorable carnivore. The lawful evildoer. The sympathetic swindler.

Let’s start from the basics, we all know that at times it’s completely fine to lie to someone about something. It is, if you know that you need to tell them the truth the moment the extra beans can be let out of the sack. It is better to lie and tell your wife about the broken plate later when no one gets agitated and hurt than just say it then and there.

Scientifically, if you’re being truthful to someone about ninety percent of the instance you’re narrating is wearing a protective jacket on the basis of how important that piece of narrative is. This is true irrespective of what that piece of “truth” might be. The fact is when you’re being false it is a two way gamble but when you’re trying to be truthful it’s a gamble with possibilities harder to comprehend.

Truth does take a person a long way, that point is noted. However what if each lie we tell is actually a clearer version of what’s actually “true” about ourselves and the “truth” is the lie the world tells us to admit to. Myths are termed to be lies whereas legends are termed as basis of truth even though both categories have stories which can have equal amounts of falsification.

Truth is a conclusion approved while a lie is a scrapped conjecture. It’s better to keep it a conjecture because the conclusion isn’t constant.

The truth is a very devilish thing. The liar in your life is quite cruel but deep down you know that truthful friend of your’s can torture the satan inside you. The fact that anything is true is a myth really.

 

 

The Sudden Journey

As I walked through a hilly road

I met a beautiful traveler

She stood stagnant, constance in her eyes

As I passed I heard a few distant cries

Tempted was my heart when I saw her

Forced were my legs when I approached her

Red were the lips of the feline, her guard kept lowered

Crimson was the inner gem, penitent and in hibernation

Her hair curled to perfection and danced with the leaves

Her eyes claimed solitary, her slender touch calmed the breeze

 

I stood petrified, confused and mesmerized

She, in meditation kept looking towards beyond

As I neared, my approach recoiled back

My fingers yearned to embrace, her skin did attract

As the wind lowered, the cries came back

Her expression showed despair, highlights of a test

The girly lips spoke silently, searched for a new quest

Watching her slowly, my eyes did creep

Reading her closely, the beats did skip

 

My mind joined her journey

She didn’t slow down

My heart raced on

I daydreamt to another town

As I searched her emotions

The light grew dimmer

Little by little I grew pacified

The frown grew thinner

My silly curiosity followed an invisible thread

Meanwhile her solitude grew impatient

Memories of a once wounded

A valiant tear showed its head

 

Confusion did strike, as a blink did go by

I held her quickly without even giving a sigh

The stranger did die, the traveler did awake

It was a sudden slap I almost had to take

 

Astonished she asked how I dared touch her

Her eyes now called the panther, the feline did back off

My lips still bore the feel as her kisser

His mind proved a preying listener, the predator slacked off

The surprise separated us, me on a different side

Yet I couldn’t let it stop, I refused to let it slide

The passion was too great, her eyebrows did rise

Her dusky eyes did surrender as my lips gave another surprise

Of the sudden wrong, each of them had a part that knew

With the heated fury, every question the growing temptation slew

 

Within hours of loneliness, two travelers grew close

In light the darkness did choose to expose

In the end two souls sat having gifted one another

He gave her another fond memory

She showed the side that was dark and unruly

Beastly Fiction

Rotting away into madness.

Slaying into one’s dreams.

Cursing away into a shallow melancholia

Surfacing at least once, in bitter streams

 

A small rose, belonging to the beast

Beauty turns a nod once every red moon

 

“Take this rose in exchange for shelter from the bitter cold”

“Go away!”

 

As he is turned away, the rose looks up

An imaginary smile but there was a real embrace.

 

“Thank you for letting me in”

Beauty welcomed the beast after all

 

The passive surface of two minds is his domain

The words uttered did not remain

It kept him still

Two souls entered melancholia

The world now went in for the kill

 

Sudden silence caught his pace

All his flaws reached him now

Sudden minds pierced him silly

The fell did see as they won the race

 

As his utter silence did cry out

She kept her book and sang oblivious

A hidden parchment in her thoughts

Crumpled language here and about

As the claws hustled back in control

Anger steady, suffering still did behold

In between his fingers, rested a red soul

Terrified of the invisible anguish

Quietly feeling the same noisy toll

“Why?”

A silent question

The little overseer lay in wonder

His silent pat displayed his hidden answer

 

As she started a new story

A distant fiction shed it’s glory