How Bad A Liar I Was

How Bad A Liar I Was

A Poem by Arjun Singh

I walked straight, pretending nothing was amiss,

As I encountered my dad, who broke my tender state of hellish bliss.

As he looked into my eyes, he probably deciphered naughtiness, but largely, my tender boyish innocence,

He asked me if I had meddled again with the neighbour’s gate, and I debated over pleading for forgiveness,

I stood rigid, denying all impositions, kept up a straight face,

Had it been someone else, he’d have walked on, his accusations being lost without trace,

He shook his head, smiled; just don’t get caught, not for this noble ‘cause’,

As I realized, how bad a liar I was,


I stealthily stole into the house, crossing my fingers, to prevent any further interviews,

But my mother waylaid me, and asked about my share of the veggies, that had been stashed away, divided into twos.

I opened my mouth and let out the loudest burp, rubbed my stomach, as if praising my mom for her culinary skills

She stared hard at me, as if right through me, beyond me, oh if looks could kill!

She broke into a spontaneous smile, before I could ask what the reason was,

As I realized, how bad a liar I was.


I trudged down the hall, content; right into my elder brother, who, strangely, was up in fumes.

Where’s my chocolate, I’ve been up and down thrice in every room?

As I desperately tried to hide my brown spittle, beyond large eyes, and pouting lips,

As the delicious dark thing in my stomach churned about, up and down, somersault and flips.

He relaxed into a smile; you’ll get germs, go now and floss,

As I realized, how bad a liar I was.


In that puny class, labelled fourth standard,

There were hardly and troubles I had to handle.

I debated into whose shoes I would have myself step into,

Doctor or Engineer, the latter appealed to me, and probably carried more money too.

As I relaxed into a chair, content with the realization that I was up for a profession I deeply loved,

Out of my books toppled a picture, of soldiers, faces flushed with glory and pride, that hurriedly inside had been stuffed.

As I glanced at the polished wood of my table, at my hazy reflection, muscles rigid and taut,

I realized how bad a liar I was.

© 2015 Arjun Singh

Author's Note

Arjun Singh
this was i recollected my childhood, and my aspirations as a child that i quelled, to join the military, as my eye sight's weakened

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Mmm...loved this flashback and the collection of lies!!
The immature behaviour but still understanding the past nuisance at present.....Great reading it😊

Posted 5 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Arjun Singh

5 Years Ago

Glad you like it
Thanks for reading!

5 Years Ago

I loved the repitition of the line I realised how bad a liar I was. A very interesting poem which tells your innocence and your good inability to lie. ☺

Posted 6 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Arjun Singh

6 Years Ago

Thanks a load..!!
Najam Us Saher

6 Years Ago

You're welcome. ☺
Very good write Arjun. You did a great job connecting the write the the purpose and not drifting away. A powerful story my friend good work :)

Posted 8 Years Ago

Well written and delivered!
very creative and yet a rawness to it
enjoyed reading this and thanks for sharing, b-blessed!

Posted 8 Years Ago

It was interesting how you tied all your stanzas together with the title. I like how you made each member of your family an individual. Even though this is a poem, I like how it told a definite story. Good job.

Posted 8 Years Ago

dude this is really skillful and crafty..........childhoods are not always great........and often times family is not the support we want..........
while everything works in our "favor" we do stitch some dreams........
awesome poem!!!
i loved it!!!

Posted 8 Years Ago

Sweet childhood memories and aspiring to be the tough guy. Nice write up.

Posted 8 Years Ago

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7 Reviews
Added on June 19, 2015
Last Updated on June 19, 2015


Arjun Singh
Arjun Singh


Just another teenage, 18 year old guy trying to voice himself.... More of a poet than a storyteller Not really sure if I am good or bad at it.... more..


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