Balachandran V's poem is a string of questions about how much of the truth ever survives the trip from one person to another. The speaker starts with words themselves and asks how much of what we mean is actually said, how much of that is conveyed, and how much is understood on the other end. Each question narrows the gap a little further, so by the middle of the poem very little seems to be left.
The speaker then turns the question on the listener: "How much you want to know?" It suggests that even when the truth is available, we may not want all of it. From there the conclusion follows quickly. If truth is so limited, then everything built on it is shaky, and the poem ends by lining up "LOVE, LIFE, LIE" as if they blur together.
The mood is quiet, doubtful, and a little weary. The short, bare lines read like thoughts drifting past, and the speaker sounds more resigned than angry.