“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.
Himadri Agarwal, a 17-year-old bibliophile, believes she is made of stars and painted with words. A seamless optimist, Himadri maintains that she believes in forever. If not reading or writing, Himadri can be found listening to Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran.
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Art by Jaden Flach, Brooklyn
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Art by Jaden Flach, Brooklyn