Sitting in a classroom by a window wide open
My eyes could but look out into the horizon
Lake Geneva, boasting about its backdrop:
the snow-capped mountains that Hannibal crossed
As my attention returned to the page and my notes,
I noticed: it’s all about the facts. Whether dates,
places or narratives of specific events,
we’re being taught the truth, nothing but the truth
Two decades later, in a building that has nothing
to compare to a medieval castle, I look outside
but this time, my attention is locked in the classroom
I am taught history is nothing but a literary exercise
What if life was not an alignment of facts?
What if instead of dates, events and milestones
it was a story that you and me and the author
could only read subjectively?
What if the only truth in our own narrative
was not about us, but indeed about an overarching story?
* * * * *
Partant d'un alignement de faits pour arriver à une histoire qui englobe l'histoire, ce poème réfléchit à la façon d'exprimer la vérité.