Truth I know have rough guts
Blatantly blunt it is.
Without batting an eyelid
Of the objects and the recipients
More often than not,
Received with some pinch of salt
Not in disbelief.
Yes, to temper its tangy taste!
In fact, tell them the lies
Those soothing lies that don't lie
That caress our egos and fondle
Our moods.
That wouldn't offend no soul
Sometimes, all a man needs
To be happy is the lie
Kill him not with the 'truth'
For kindness it is to tell the lie
Just be consistent with the lie
And it becomes truth which needs
No salt or embroidered flowers.
But one which makes hopeless hearts
Giggle and a famished stomach full.
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