Why Few Things Please Us More Than Lies - Poem by Aniruddha Pathak
At three scores and more still I am no wise
That few things please us more than shades of lies;
We lie to strangers; to those that be close,
We lie too to Him that by name of God goes.
A poet’s pen portraying dapper dreams,
While painting with creative brush oft trims
Some truth; perhaps, that’s what art is about,
But I’d love to pretend I still have doubt.
We pay for a peep of pulpy films more,
For fiction; facts of life’s familiar lore,
We switch off news, opt for entertainment,
We like a dream dreamt more than this moment.
Most of us find the Fifty Shades of Grey
Exciting more than truth’s bare, black and white;
Great actors get known by the roles they play;
Ah, blight of lies live longer than truth’s light.
Yudhishthir lived his life truth to uphold,
Yet, we recall the sole lie he once told:
‘Yea, my guru, Ashavatthama is slain’,
Pointing to the pachyderm in some pain1!
A cat loves none else than her own sweet self,
And more illusive is than fairy elf,
But still as pet we pamper her for long,
‘Tis fib o’er fact here, right o’er-ruled by wrong!
More commerce is bought o’er the myth of lie,
More nations are friends, for, truths lowly lie,
More remain married for the same odd reason,
For, untruth blossoms whatso be the season.
‘The cruellest lies are in silence said’,
Robert Louis may have reason so to say,
But lies do get eloquent by the day,
It is the truth that suffers when muted.
And lo the truth, but half in odd measure,
Is treated today like a rare treasure,
And in a warm company of white lies,
Couched in courteous decorum, is on rise.
Makes sense, why we admire liars that dare,
Detesting those that a bare truth declare,
‘Tis lies that nations nix the path of war,
The suave subtle untruths are foes no more.
Sin hath many a tool taken on call,
And lie maketh a handle that fits all2.
So, dare to lie; truth is no more in creed,
To stick to truth is to lose hard earned lead.
Go ahead; telling truth any fool can,
One that manages untruth well makes today’s man,
All others lagging hind are also-ran
Of a dunghill, crackling like lost hen.
‘Tis old fashioned to think lies live no long,
But let us hope, lies would live to be old3;
For, today’s truth is: old age makes lies bold;
Grace be! At ripe age found I’ve my lost song.
1. Mahabharata, Drona Parva
2. Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle that fits
them all. -Oliver Wendell Homes.
3. A lie never lives to be old. - Sophocles
- Musings | 06.07.12 |
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