Quite often sweet lies,
Almost every one likes
And a blunt truth
Leads one to wrath.
Every one, guilt-free,
Any time, wants to be.
So they resort to lies,
To cover their faults.
'Me, the thorn pricked, '
Thus, the thorn is blamed,
And not the one stepped
O'er it, enroute, unnoticed.
'My Lord, a coin you spare, '
Prays a beggar to a miser,
Praising him as a donor
Just to fill up his hunger.
'Oh, you're a source of joy'
Says a henpecked hubby
Facing her usual fry
That makes him almost cry.
Can he stay with his wife,
Peacefully under one roof?
Lie comes to his rescue here,
For him to live sans any fear.
A lie saves a nation sometime,
Be it diplomacy, its other name.
One can lie to save a life
From falling into a strife.
How many lies under an oath
Do come up to cover the truth
In His Lordship's Court,
To save a guilty from guilt?
Thanks to all the sweet lies
For saving many battles
And keeping all souls happy,
Under the cloud of hypocrisy.