In the end,
Only truth survives,
Bitter and alone,
All the walls of bias ness,
Topples,
The Sand castles of lies,
And you come out,
As you are,
Under even how many coatings,
A number of masks,
Truth is not like a painter,
Who can colour the sketch of life,
With colours of the wishes,
Not it is a poet,
Who can create new meanings out of words,
And really,
It has not learnt from us,
How to trick and decieve.
It is said,
That in the end everything become blurr,
Or out of visions,
But truth is like a sun, who
With its rays, illustrates
And clears all the mist, and
Changes the dusk into dawn
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