Truth is a Truant Bird

Truth may be a truant bird,
but it is real, real, real;
like radio active uranium,
you may not Truth quell.

You may trap Truth in uniform,
you may wash the ink away,
you may stamp it underfoot,
Truth will have its day.

Nor god nor man can build a cage
of subtle secrecies
adequate to quell the Truth
or bring it to its knees.

It flies past the Commissioner
and his obliging policemen;
it brings the wasted corpse to life,
its death is never done;

it crawls on badly broken wing
into the murderous lap;
it sneaks from out the buried life,
it draws a relentless map

from perfidy to perfidy,
from encounter to encounter;
it winks from the weakest little twig
at the mightiest chief minister.

The Truth, it is Banquo’s ghost,
sending banquet into flutter;
it makes of Macbeth a shivering thing,
it is Justice’s bread and butter.


******


Badri Raina, April, 26, 2011