The Truth

“The truth is like poetry.
And most people f*&^%#@ hate poetry”
– From the movie, ‘The Big Short’


The truth is a million species are lined up for
The truth is natural ecosystems are breaking
The truth is it the way we consume land and sea is
affecting us all.

The truth is bleached coral.
The truth is fish with plastic in their bellies.
The truth is burning fossil fuels.
The truth is rising seas.

The truth is the worst April cyclone in the Bay of
Bengal in years that killed dozens of people in

The truth is no longer sustainable.

Have you closely examined the delicate contours
of a butterfly wing?
Have you wondered at the Fibonacci patterns of
shells and flowers?
Have you considered the delicate balance of the
food chain?
Have you woken up in the morning to the sound
of water and birds?

The truth is that nature, left to itself, is poetry.
The truth is most people f*&^%#@ hate poetry.

From the IPBES report on biodiversity and ecosystem services


31 thoughts on “The Truth

  1. This is such a compelling piece … the way in which you’ve constructed this poem really adds to the impactful case you have articulated so well.

    ‘The truth is that nature, left to itself, is poetry.
    The truth is most people f*&^%#@ hate poetry’



  2. It seems there is evidence that hman beings are arrogant, greedy, and stupid Rajani. I fear major global catastrophe is what may open their eyes – or close them forever…


  3. This is one of my favorites of yours, Rajani. Poetry does remain ‘ truth’ but like other things in this world – such as nature – seems hard to sustain in this day, Nature, if left to its own resources, would be sustainable as it has been for centuries and the most beautiful poetry. But left to humans – we screw it up…as we screw up truth generally…. and life in general! It is not poetry that is not sustainable, but our humanity it seems.


  4. Gacela of the Terrible Presence
    I want the water to lose its course. I want the wind to lose its valleys.
    I want the night to lose its eyes, and my heart its gold-flower;
    I want the oxen to speak with the great leaves, and the earthworm to die of gloom.
    I want to skull’s teeth to shine, and yellows to flood the silk.
    I can see the duel of the wounded night wrestling entwined with midday.
    I resist a sunset of green poison, and the broken arches where Time suffers.
    But do not make your pure nakedness resplendent like a black cactus unfolded among the reeds.
    Leave me in a dread of obscure planets, but do not show me your serene waist.

    (no points for guessing who wrote it.)

    Liked by 1 person

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