The fault is in me
had been quiet all time
respond I did not
reply I did not
Silence was my way
smile did I
ignore did I
finally laughed did I
at the ignorance
which was ignominious
at the behaviour
greatly contemptuous .
Is it a fault to be so?
You have to tell me in slow.
The day turns out to be one of vain
as people go bragging for gain
going by the words not true
standing out for things that grew
on a soil laden by lies
as these lies get ahead in tries
bringing fortunes to those
who like to reap in a chose
with benefits much and great
as wealth brings fame too
a comfort that none other could buy
that would last until one dies
Truth is bitter and sour.
Speaking it needs power.
Talking straight is never
a habit in the cover
demanding sincerity ever
Lies come in a clamour
Facilitating them with glamour
has become a passionate amour
bringing with it an exercise of grammar
elaborating with feign demeanour
Truth is slow and is a struggle
With an initial setback and bungle
it falters in every possible juggle
then gets ahead deliberately in a snuggle
never pushing in a through a smuggle.
Lies are quick and shining
coming in tens and hundreds in teasing
as one lie leads to another in piling
setting the stage for rigging
culminating in an illicit trafficking.
With that lies being an easy format
men chose to go by that stat
while truth is no mean doormat
fighting a very difficult combat.
As such the eventual lies live short
with ostentation and glory bought
but with truth being caught
by jugglery and manipulation of sort
has a life long-standing above all thoughts.
Telling stories has been his practice long.
Telling them with twists and turns are his belong
Morning he gives one narration wit the turn
and the evening sets the turn into a twist
making the listener to hold in suspense
till the next morning when there is yet another swirl.
The receiver has no other chance but to hear
the stories with a daze and a freeze.
Mystery would play a second fiddle to his technique
as he goes on building lies after lies
in quick succession mesmerizing the listener
and he himself loses track of his scroll
as the multitude of lies come like a swarm of bees
besieging the audience and the narrator one at the same time.
The story has no start and end proper
as it is entwined over a net improper
it is a cobweb of lies atranger than fiction
and very difficult to clean up the intensity
with which they intricately spin in a bobbin
creating a story of irrelevance.