The Truth Is Not So Bad

 by Richa Anand



After feeling complete and real moments, and uncovering they were illusions, the truth, is not so bad.

It is the worst, the most insane, the most bitter, and abjectly surreally venomous, when it first starts getting underlined. Slowly, meticulously, callously, carelessly, swirling, twirling, like the snake coiling, it grips the life out of you. More with fear of a certain part of you dying, you begin to face death in lust. You fall deeper and deeper, as the first brush has been so alluring and charming, that you lost the anatomy of your brain in it.

You forbade the heart to cease, and gave the soul a new life. The soul that was just a wayfarer till then, in some mindless jangle of  sojourn after sojourn, never seen the mirror. Then it stirred. To the jingle bells of the unknown past life. It blinked to the whispers of soft songs sung into a naive ear. Am I alive? You thought.

You must have been.

For the Universe changed all its colors. It was like the inamorato and self, possessed the same cone photo receptors by default, along with almost parallel taste buds. Food became so real. Water became elixir.

And yet, it wasn't true.

You were you, and they were them. Tricksters, the heart and soul. Should have thrown them in the prison of unhappiness and abstinence, for they together couldn't have measured up to the infinite realms of pathos to follow. The irrigating passion and then the parched pathos. 

You welcomed the disbelief, the swing of emotions. Made life incredibly interesting. Which part of Am I, was the truth. The retinal receptors unearthing facts or the melody that still played on in the ears.

You were crazed, stung and strung, galvanised to errata without suspicion to the truth. You cannot be, you cannot be, you screamed to the mute truth. I may be, I could be, I might...errr...well, I am, it responded softly.

You walked the dire slow straits with the balance of Robin. The breast was pricked and it bled and got bleached of many truths on the way. Then there it was. The truth, after the truth. In that moment. In this moment. In now. And it's not so bad.

Because it's your truth. Your very own brand, your own light, and your own fire. And self preservation has laws that won't let you burn yourself. The truth in its glory wearing the crown of solitude. And it's not so bad. In fact, it's peaceful, it's calm, it's loving, it's guileless. It's simply, beautiful.