Title: The Weight Of Truth Poem by ashok jadhav

(The speaker stands alone in a dimly lit room, shadows stretching across the walls. Their voice begins low, almost whispering, then rises with emotion, trembling between defiance and despair.)
I have wrestled with it… day after day, night after night, as if sheer will could rewrite the lines of fate. I refused—refused—to look at it straight in the eye. I told myself that denial was courage, that clinging to illusions was survival. But illusions, I have learned, are treacherous companions—they whisper promises, and in the same breath, they choke you with silence.
How long can a heart live in shadow, pretending that the sunlight never existed? I told myself lies… little lies… comforting lies… that tomorrow would be different, that perhaps the world had a pause button, that somehow, I could step back before it crushed me. But life does not pause. Life does not wait. And truth… truth is relentless.
I see it now. I see it in every hollow space where hope used to sit. I see it in every mirror, reflecting back not the person I want to be, but the one I am. And oh… how I hate it. How I rage against it! How I ache to turn my back, to walk away from the unbearable weight of knowing.
But… I cannot. I cannot walk away. Because to walk away would be to live forever in the lie. And lies are prisons. And I… I am tired of being imprisoned.
So I stand here. Trembling, yes… broken, yes… but awake. I come to terms with it. I name it. I call it by its proper name. I face it as one faces a storm they cannot outrun, a shadow they cannot escape.
I come to terms with the betrayal… with the loss… with the truth that the world does not bend to my wishes. I come to terms with the fragility of life, the cruelty of chance, the silence of those who promised to stay. I come to terms with the fact that some wounds do not heal, some absences do not fill, and some dreams… some dreams die quietly while the world goes on, oblivious.
And yet—perhaps in this coming to terms, there is a strange liberation. Perhaps in naming the truth, I strip it of its power to haunt me. Perhaps in accepting what cannot be changed, I begin to see what still can. Perhaps… just perhaps… surrender is not defeat, but the first step toward peace.
So I breathe. Slowly. Deliberately. I let the grief, the anger, the fear wash over me… and I let it go. I come to terms with the impossible. And in that terrible, beautiful act of acceptance, I—finally—stand free.
(Pauses. Voice softens, almost reverently.)
I am here. I know. I endure. I am alive. And in that… perhaps, that is enough.