The Painted Lies
An ode in free verse
I.
The first to go is the wrapper
A superfluous sheath of identity printed
In the loudest of noises, the flashiest of color,
Often a false facade, to a crumbling truth
Inside.
At times though, a truth sayer too
But still false, in the way it isn’t —
The thing, but the idea of the thing
Masquerading in a beautifully
Printed jacket of luscious decadence,
Promising seductively, a sensuous escape
Into an unknown reality. That leap of faith —
That things are, as they are advertised.
False lies are confusing.
Our minds are so willfully
Hijacked
Do we need to be invited,
To partake knowingly
In the shared lie of the idea,
Of the thing as a mirror
To truth?
The painted lies, hacked
From our minds to yours,
The false truth, like
The shallowness of ego,
The mask of who we want to be
Rather than who we are,
Waking up each morning
To put on that mask, that wrapper
Of painted gloss, and artful images
Of educated strokes of rightly chosen
Font. The shape of our words
Carefully chosen, to hear —
What I mean, and not
What I say, and never
Who I really am.
And then eventually
We are peeled
away.
Sometimes, rudely ripped apart
In an eagerness to get inside
Ourselves, our truth,
To tear past the lie,
The advertising, false even —
When it is true.
And sometimes gently,
Lovingly teasing apart the seams
Of our cloaks, our lies
Glued incongruously, as though
We were meant — to take it apart
All along.
Undressing our years
Of carefully constructed images,
Our multitude of identities
Of labels, flavors, and ingredients
And a brand name, like the name
We are given when we are —
Born.
Now gently pulling
The edges of our creation,
Glued jestfully, in deceit,
Knowing the truth
That lay beneath was waiting
Patiently to be unveiled,
Uncloaked.
II.
And revealing beneath
Lo and behold — the truth?
No, just another wrapper,
This one cold and practical.
None of the embellishment
Of the first, merely a protection
To keep safe against the
Ravages of a world gone mad
In its blindness, its hubris
Of certainty, unembellished —
For all practical purposes
The truth, “the way it is”.
But it’s just another wrapper,
Is it not? It's not yet the thing,
Can’t you see?
What’s the matter with all of you?
Just because you shed the skin
Of shallow content, you think
You know everything?
Fool! Imbecile!
Mindless mindfulness!
You are not awake?
You are still dreaming, dude!
That’s metal foil you are biting into.
You can’t even fathom
That this is just a wrapper,
Can you?
It hugs so perfectly
The reality beneath, that we can’t see
That we’re not there yet.
We’re the chimpanzee, from the forest
Biting into its first chocolate bar,
Wrapper and all, eagerly smelling
The goodness inside, hungry to get in.
We think because we have
Shed the falsity of our identity
That we know the way things are?
Not in a million parsecs!
Look at the ignorance as we
Carry around with false confidence
This bar of false certitude!
And so, we age.
Some of us still strutting about
In our colorful wrappers, proud
Of who we are, as we die
Unopened and unrealized.
Others foolishly wise in their
Tin foils and blind faith
In the limits of their knowledge
Satiating their thirst
Dying, still unopened
Still unrealized.
III.
Where do we go from here?
We’re already with Dorothy
Now, among the shamans.
We might as well ride it down
All the way, dive deeper
Into the abyss,
Open that last wrapper —
“Here is your drink, Uncle
A dash of water, no ice
Just the way you want it,”
The old man takes the glass,
Grasping with both hands, weakly
Gesturing, cheerfully smiling —
“Come closer, my son,
I want to kiss you.”
The raw smell of chocolate
Wafts pleasurably in the air
The past air of pretense and falseness,
All finally shed,
Till there is only oodles of love
Left behind in every melting
Moment.
The gooey pleasure of pure bliss
In every bite, in every morsel,
A thousand explosions
In a single moment.
The whole of a woman
Or a man, their life
Distilled into pure love.
Is this pure love?
Unselfish giving,
Without need to receive
Pervading everywhere?
Were we not like this
When first our child
Was born?
Unconditional love,
And now at the twilight
The innermost layer
Of our being, peeled,
Shines thusly, with
Pure unconditional love,
For all.
The pure radiance,
The euphoria of chocolate,
Melting.
And soon it will be time
To return that love back to the source
From whence it is a part.
© Unni Nambiar (March 28th, 2021)
