Poetry

Earlier, my god was a lie, and ghosts were truth. But how? Ask me, "How not?" Lies protect me no matter what and in trouble; the only thing that could save me was a LIE, whereas TRUTH hurts the most. It makes me insecure about small things; it makes me get in more trouble. It is said that सच कड़वा होता है and एक झूट छुपाने के लिए 100 बोलने पड़ते हैं... WHO CARES?? If truth is bitter, let me LIE, but it is not all. Lies are comfort but made of illusions – they feel warm, safe, and easy—but only because they hide the sharp edges of truth.

It's just the longer you hold it close, the heavier it becomes. On the other hand, truth is something like pain, but it heals. It floods your room with light, but I was used to the dark because of the light. It makes me uncomfortable, uneasy. But in that discomfort, there’s clarity. It strips away the softness of illusion, revealing the world as it is unfiltered. It demands that you grow, even if it hurts. It’s not always kind, but it’s always real—and in that reality, there is something stronger than comfort: freedom. A LIE CAN SAVE ME TODAY, BUT TRUTH CAN SET ME FREE FOREVER by not holding me back, like a LIE; it makes me think about it every minute.

Will they find out?
Did I say too much… or not enough?
What if I forget what I said?
Was it really necessary?
Did I just make things worse?
What will happen if the truth comes out?
Do they believe me?
Am I becoming someone I don’t recognize?
How long can I keep this up?
Was it worth it?
Is this who I want to be?

Whereas my God my Truth

When the truth comes out, everything changes.

It can break hearts or build bridges.
It can hurt—but it heals.
It ends the lie, starts the real.
It’s chaos, then clarity.
Painful, but freeing.

I have more to say but isn't this ENOUGH to believe - The only GHOST I met was LIE and the only GOD I believe in is TRUTH.

IF NOT THEN that person is not ready.

Not ready to face themselves.
Not ready to trade comfort for clarity.
Not ready to meet the ghost in their own mirror.

As the meandering river of fate cascades through
The unyielding terrain of the universal void, 
Liquid life glistening on the astral orbs; 
There stands Conscience, 
At a point of divergence,

Watching intently the 
Numerous offshoots branching from the
Starry stream of a galaxy, flowing as
Far as its metaphysical vision could comprehend;
Thinking to Itself,

“Which, oh, to which stream’s current shall
I cede my skeletal canoe?
Which path, which choice,
Should my weary mortal frame tread –

A cruel road to riches and ever-lasting want,
Or a righteous trail to contentment and unfulfilled need?
A gnarly ascent to fame and a loss of privacy,
Or an idyllic, smooth descent to peaceful oblivion?
A thoroughfare to acclamation built on lies,
Or one toward social exile built on brutal honesty?
O Heavenly Parent, guide your child toward the light.”

At long last, after brooding over the quandary
Till the sun’s eyelids droop;
Though the dread of failure hangs
In the otherwise tranquil yet unsettling silence;
Conscience rolls the dice and chances upon
A stream, a path, an option;
And nudges itself toward it.
Now a fait accompli, the journey
Seemed less unnerving, but
Just as arduous. 

After having travelled a distance that determined
The chosen path a permanent decision,
Conscience camps for the night.
Though its vehicle of flesh goes
Out like a light,
Its mind races to somehow
Convince itself that
It has chosen the path
Accurate for its ambition.
It couldn’t help but wonder
Whether it would regret its pick.

Many a morrow later, when Conscience experienced
The motley mixture of euphoria, contentment and pride
Which comes with the accomplishment of
A life’s purpose in the world,
And a remembrance of the sheer
Determination and effort applied toward
Bringing about change
In a personality, a character, a device of fleeting thought, a soul;
A tiny sliver of thought still voiced its question,
Its topic of rumination:
“What would my fortune have been had I
surrendered to a different current?”

Our choices shape the mind; 
Our risks shape character; 
But our incorporation of change
Into every aspect of our persona, 
Fueled by our mind, character, instinct and conscience: 
That shapes our legacy.

The poem "Weathered" captures a vivid scene of nature's resilience against harsh elements, using imagery and symbolism to evoke deeper themes of fragility and endurance.

Poem Weathered

An icy wind shook
Extinguishing the day
The sun cried
No longer with its blinding light
Dimmed to nothing
Woodland creatures hid from the silent storm
Beneath a double cape
For it was their only escape

Twilight breathed its spell
The air was calm as can be
Flowers drank the morning dew
Giving them a different hue
In the gaze of the waking sun
To bloom and nod in all their glory
For icy frost in the night
Would make them wither
In the pale moonlight

Analysis of the poem "Weathered"

The poem begins with an intense setting described by an "icy wind" that "shook" and "extinguished" the day. This imagery suggests a sudden and overwhelming change, where the typical warmth and light of the sun are replaced by a cold, oppressive atmosphere. The personification of the sun "crying" adds a sense of loss and vulnerability, as its once powerful presence is diminished to nothingness. The environment becomes hostile, driving woodland creatures into hiding beneath a "double cape" for protection, emphasizing their instinctual need for survival in adverse conditions.

As the poem progresses into twilight, there is a shift in tone and atmosphere. The air becomes "calm," contrasting sharply with the earlier tumultuous weather. This transition symbolizes a period of respite or renewal after the storm. The mention of flowers drinking the morning dew and taking on a "different hue" suggests a metaphorical rebirth or transformation. The flowers, now nourished and revived by the gentle morning light, are depicted as resilient symbols of beauty and vitality.

However, the poem also warns of the fragility inherent in this natural cycle. The flowers bloom and nod in their full glory under the "waking sun," vulnerable to the "icy frost" that returns in the night. This delicate balance between life and decay is emphasized by the contrast between the vibrant daylight and the chilling moonlight, which threatens to cause the flowers to wither.

Overall, "Weathered" explores themes of endurance, vulnerability, and renewal within the context of nature's cycles. The poem's imagery of harsh weather, protective instincts of wildlife, and the fragile beauty of flowers conveys a deeper message about the resilience of life in the face of adversity, while also acknowledging the inevitable impact of time and external forces on existence.