Truths are illusions
Mirrors of thoughts we turn around In the solitude of our minds. We fashion them like rivers’ Currents moulding their courses through time and space - I have seen this; I am a witness.
You might ask how firm is solid ground? When beneath it always shifts. So too with truth — elusive in its presence, Yet fiercely potent when present; It enters quietly as morning light arrives at dawn’s break: Nonchalantly polite yet unassumingly disruptive.
Truths?
They are mere specters on one’s sanity! Like strings on an untuned guitar they resonate oddly but remain unnoticed- My fingers touch these chords fondly so familiar now to me -
See here: Identities shattered upon revelation’s floor! The mirage fades into sharp reality… Amidst broken shards reflecting regrets not mine nor yours – Ours?
Our common memory till adulthood persists then shatters all while evolving endlessly– fleeting figments fickle mind fabricates…Ah! The blissful surrender that washes over us!
‘Change’, claims life silently. ‘Now.’
In the genesis of this poem, I found myself wandering in Friedrich Nietzsche’s profound assertion that
“Truths are illusions about which one has forgotten that this is what they are; metaphors which are worn out and without sensuous power; coins which have lost their pictures and now matter only as metal, no longer as coins”
His words nudged me into a quiet reflection on how truths can subtly morph into inexplicable mirages when divested of primeval context or purpose.
Just like an artwork deprived of its shape and form — what remains is but lifeless matter resonating with poignant echoes from yesteryears.