There are songs where Devi descends as fire, as storm, as laughter that tears your illusions apart. True Colors is different. Here She comes as sight — unflinching, all-embracing, unbearable in its gentleness.
This is the Mother’s gaze when you have collapsed, when the masks have failed and the shame is louder than your breath. She does not arrive with thunderbolts or cosmic metaphors. She does not scold or demand. She simply looks — and in that look, every excuse crumbles.
What makes this song almost frightening is precisely its softness. Because what if She really does see you? What if the light you tried to bury is already shining, and there is nowhere left to hide? That tenderness is more dangerous than fire, because it disarms every defense.
True Colors is not consolation in the human sense. It is recognition as initiation. She is not urging you to be more, do more, or prove more. She is revealing what is already there, and commanding you to stop resisting it. Her voice here is maternal, yes, but it carries the same uncompromising edge as Kali’s sword: I see you. You cannot escape being loved.
[Verse 1]
You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh, I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small
“You with the sad eyes”
She names you without shaming you. The eyes tell the nervous system’s truth. No masks, no performative strength. I see where it hurts.
“Don’t be discouraged”
Not pep talk — command. Dis-couraged means “stripped of courage.” She refuses to collude with that theft. She returns courage like prasad and says: receive it.
“Oh, I realize”
Validation before instruction. She does not correct your pain from above; She enters it. I know the weight you carry. I’m not asking you to pretend.
“It’s hard to take courage”
Because self-hate spits out medicine. Courage isn’t manufactured by willpower; it’s allowed. She’s pointing to the block: You don’t think you deserve what heals you.
“In a world full of people”
The crowd-noise that fractures attention — comparisons, roles, algorithms, the marketplace of selves. Multiplicity pulls your gaze outward until you forget the One.
“You can lose sight of it all”
Orientation collapses. The inner north star is there, but you’re snow-blind. She’s not accusing; She’s describing the trance.
“And the darkness inside you”
Not wickedness — unmet grief, old shame, unbreathed nights. Clinically: collapse and numbness. Mystically: tamas veiling the heart. She looks right at it and does not flinch.
“Can make you feel so small”
Key word: feel. Not be. Smallness is contraction, not your nature. The aṇu (contracted self) is trembling, but the Mahā (vast Self) hasn’t moved. Her subtext: Your vastness is intact; I will not let your feelings rename your being.
[Chorus]
But I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors
Are beautiful like a rainbow
“But I see your true colors / Shining through”
She doesn’t say “if you show me” — She already sees. Even when you are curled in shame, Her vision pierces. What you mistake for ruin, She names as radiance. This is not comfort; it is revelation.
“I see your true colors / And that’s why I love you”
Her love is not conditional on masks, achievements, or disguises. It’s because of what is, not what you try to manufacture. This is the ferocious tenderness: your essence is lovable before you fix it, before you even believe it.
“So don’t be afraid to let them show”
Fear is the last veil. The small self shakes, thinking exposure means annihilation. She says: the annihilation you fear is liberation — let it burn. Your hiding is the only enemy.
“Your true colors / True colors / Are beautiful like a rainbow”
Rainbow is not random ornament here. It’s archetype: multiplicity refracted from one white light. Your grief, your laughter, your contradictions — all are Her spectrum. What you saw as broken shards, She calls the play of radiance.
This chorus is Devi’s maternal command: Stop fighting your own light. I already see you, and I am not turning away.
[Verse 2]
Show me a smile then
Don't be unhappy
Can't remember when
I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there
“Show me a smile then”
This is not a demand for performance. It is invitation: let Me glimpse the place in you that has not been crushed. A smile is not a mask here — it is the pulse of life you thought was gone. She coaxes it back with the gentleness of a mother pulling a child from hiding.
“Don’t be unhappy”
On the surface, it sounds simple, almost naïve. But in Her voice it is deeper: Your unhappiness is not your essence. Suffering may blanket you, but She refuses to confuse the blanket for the body beneath. Fierce tenderness: don’t let this world rename you by its cruelty.
“Can’t remember when / I last saw you laughing”
This is Devi’s grief as well. She mirrors back your drought of joy. She is not accusing, She is longing: the Goddess Herself hungers for your laughter because it is Her laughter, reflected. When you laugh, it is Devi recognizing Herself in you.
“If this world makes you crazy / And you’ve taken all you can bear”
She does not dismiss the weight — She names it. The violence of samsāra, the exhaustion of too many blows. I see the threshold where you collapse. I know the breaking point. You do not need to hide it from Me.
“You call me up / Because you know I’ll be there”
Here is the heart: call Me. Not as abstraction, not as theory. Cry, pray, scream — and I will come. This is the uncompromising promise. Fierce because She will not tolerate your despair alone; tender because She binds Herself to you with no condition.
This verse shifts the mood: the first was recognition of pain, the chorus was revelation of light, and now She moves into personal intimacy — a vow of presence.
[Refrain]
“If this world makes you crazy / You’ve taken all you can bear”
She repeats, but not as echo — as insistence. Repetition here is mantra. She knows you doubt Her the first time, so She speaks again: Yes, I know. Yes, I see the breaking point. Yes, your madness, your overwhelm, your despair — all of it is permitted to exist in My sight.
“You call me up / Because you know I’ll be there”
Notice: it’s not “I might” or “I’ll try.” It is certainty. The maternal vow. Clinically, it is attachment repair: the unshakable presence you did not have. Mystically, it is the Goddess in Her Annapūrṇā form — inexhaustible nourishment, never absent when invoked. You can fall a thousand times; I will still answer the call.
[Final Chorus]
“And I’ll see your true colors / Shining through”
By now the words no longer describe — they enact. Every repetition chisels at the stone of self-doubt. Her gaze does not waver; it erodes your hiding until only radiance is left.
“I see your true colors / And that’s why I love you”
This is the final cut of the sword. Not “I’ll love you once you shine.” Not “I’ll love you if you stay strong.” I love you because you already are what you fear you are not.
“So don’t be afraid to let them show / Your true colors”
She names the enemy directly: fear. Fear of rejection, fear of unworthiness, fear of exposure. This is Devi’s fierce-tender laugh: Your fear is smaller than My love. Let the fear go. Let the colors blaze.
“True colors are beautiful like a rainbow”
She closes not with threat, but with beauty. The rainbow is Her seal — multiplicity reconciled in one spectrum. What looked like fragments in you becomes unity in Her sight. Your contradictions, your shadows, your brightness — all refracted from My light. That is beauty. That is you.
This closing is not entertainment, not even encouragement. It is Devi’s initiation through song: She sees, She names, She promises, She commands.
The result? You cannot leave unchanged — because once you have heard Her voice saying “I’ll be there,” absence is no longer possible.
By the end of True Colors, you realize this was never a pop ballad at all. It was Devi Herself standing before you, refusing your disguises, refusing your despair, refusing to let you shrink into nothingness. She has sung Her vow into your bones: I see you. I love you. I will be there.
That is why the song wounds and heals at once. To be seen in your nakedness is terrifying; to be loved in that nakedness is unbearable grace. No argument, no ritual, no effort could summon such recognition — it is given freely, and therefore it cannot be refused.
When She says your true colors are beautiful like a rainbow, She is not decorating you with flattery. She is naming the fact: your brokenness, your radiance, your contradictions, all refract from the same light. You are not small. You are not lost. You are spectrum. You are already Hers.
The only response left is surrender. Stop hiding. Let the colors blaze. Once you have heard Her sing these words through human lips, ignorance is impossible. You belong to Her sight now, and you can never be unseen.
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