It was a verity, a veracity,
Yet looked like a mystery,
Till now the seeker who was incapable,
For whom life was nothing but a fleeting show,
The one who was like an untuned instrument,
Devoid of any armony within,
For whom communication was merely an exchange of words or sentences,
For whom that frightened the mind, was revered.
He was like a puppet for whom life was a mere play,
But now the light of the inner conscience faced the truth,
And triumphed over the darkness of ignorance.
He now understood that this is the actual value of life,
What was a verity, a veracity,
Is now known to him, what earlier seemed like a mystery.
truth : mystery : realization
Tulip Brook 