9/21/26

Human beings do not seek the truth.
They seek a truth they can bear.

There are mysteries that ripen like grapes in the dark,
holding within their skin what the mouth still does not know how to name.

There are truths that are like a walnut:
hard on the outside,
bitter when finally opened.

And still we insist on breaking them,
as though knowing were always a form of liberation.

It is not.

There are forms of knowledge that burn like fire,
and silences that drown more deeply than water.

Human beings call destiny what they desired,
love what they possessed,
prudence what they feared,
and wisdom what they learned to endure.

Truth watches in silence.

It promises no salvation.
It offers no meaning.
It does not caress our wounds.

It simply remains.

Mystery still allows desire.
It leaves a door half-open,
a shadow upon the skin,
a dark wine upon the lips,
a question breathing between two people.

Truth frightens us less by what it reveals
than by what it destroys.

It destroys what we invented in order to keep desiring.

The fire ends,
the water grows still,
the grapes rot,
and even the walnut shell breaks between our fingers.

Then what remains is what we never wanted to find.

Ourselves.

Without mystery.
Without excuses.
Without the beauty of illusions.

And in that instant, we understand the greatest cruelty:

the abyss was never hidden.

We were the ones who spent our lives
calling mystery what we could not bear to call the truth.

J. KASRA-WRITER

9/21/26