Seasons of a Lie

Dr Ranbir Laishram

They build stories like quick houses,
bright on the outside, hollow inside.
Words spread fast — like lanterns at night —
and people gather where the light feels warm.
You can fool most people for a season.
Crowds cheer the easy story, and for a while
it fits like a coat. But seasons change.
Truth waits quietly, patient and steady.

Conscience sits like a small clock in the chest.
It can't be fooled by noise or applause.
You can wear a mask to the world,
but the clock keeps time with your own breath.
Faces remember what you tried to bury.
Not everyone is loud, but some keep the memory.
They will speak later, or their silence will speak,
and the lie will find the cracks in daylight.

The liar counts wins with empty coins.
Sleep brings receipts: names, small pains, the cost.
Applause does not erase the list.
Conscience keeps adding, quiet and sure.
When lanterns fade and paper boats sink,
what stays is the small clock and the list of names.
You can fool most people for a season;
you cannot fool your own conscience for long.