The Truth Poem by Ankur Beohar

The offspring of misplaced priorities
my life's searching for certitude
Maybe not in the established norms of the world
beneath the surface of these answers in multitudes.


Perhaps just within those letters
which make the alphabets of a language
or maybe the thought beneath those numbers
that catch our minds in their permuting madness.


Not within these systems
That are capable of hollowing my heart
but in those capillaries in the midst of action
which thanklessly pursue their work as art


Maybe not at the peak of mountains
whose scenery takes my breath away
In those tiny drops of a spring fountain
whose tiny movement makes me realize they pray.


Neither in the long essays of love,
That humble the world with their might
In those pious moments of benediction
which those twinkling eyelids could never surmise


I am not in search of my end
I am beyond the journey of life
I care little of those big questions
My every breath I feel should thrive