What if life was not an alignment of facts?


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.




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