“Where am I?” I wonder,
as I stand trapped between
truth and lies,
fact and fiction,
in the no man’s land they call
myth.

And I move forward
past the comics they gave us as children —
illustrated depictions
by artistic magicians
who bring a world to life.

Past the stories on Sunday morning TV shows —
nostalgic reminiscence
of traversing distances
transcending space and time.

Past the tales heard at grandparents’ feet —
making memories
beyond boundaries
and past the stars.

And finally I reach
the sky
that they call
“myth.”

And finally I meet
the rishis of high stature
who took the princes to Mithila
to raise a god’s bow.
And finally I meet
the man of principles
who forgot them all
and let his wife go.

And finally I meet
all those I had only heard of hitherto.
And finally I meet
all those I never encountered, but always knew.

And finally when I return
from the land they call “myth”
I know.
There is treason and trust,
stories of love and of lust,
of lost friends and unflinching loyalty,
of common men and of royalty,
I know.
In the land they call “myth” —
We have body and we have soul.
I know.
The land of myth
encompasses
all.