The Truth
During the scalding summer, how much
We yearn for a chilling morn drizzle
When in the bone biting winter lurch
Don’t we pray for a sunny sizzle?
Which season man can bear; I marvel
Without a demur, to its full run
Yet swaggers he with synthetic preen
That he conquered the nature’s riddle
Come storm, Tsunami or some crisis
Man at last comes to his consciousness
Amidst falling contraptions of his
False conceptions and failed finesse
Whence sprouts from the ruins of reason,
Rationale and dialectics; the Truth
The vital Truth; that’s beyond his breadth
To see, feel, deal, conceive and reckon
On that day when he is at his wits end
No way to fight, No where to run and hide
He can only seek the help of the Hand unseen
And kneel with faith before those Feet divine
poem by Sathya Narayana
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