politics | Musings from North country

the world is kin, but it is only on some days
when the cloud hangs low and thick, and any light
if at all, is diffused, that i am able to recognize it
where there were seventy three trilliums in June
now lies ninety five tamarack needles

all my life I have been warned of geography, do not step here, or mingle there
if it was indeed so dangerous, how could i live
with snow, having been brought up with the sun
now history is another matter, yes that
would certainly kill, unless you strike first

if i have to constantly fight
over geography, and history is
bound to be our downfall
let us take respite from raping
each other’s stardust
and take refuge in arithmetic
when seventy three trilliums is being
replaced by ninety five tamarack needles, with more incoming
let us look directly at the stars, being plucked away in patient hurry

The stories we tell are often the stories others want to hear.
It does not matter whether it pertains to photography or politics or chemistry or community.

Oftentimes, these stories we tell and the ones we want to hear are in harmony. In that case, it is important to just tell the story.

Other times, the storytelling makes us think that we have always wanted to hear that story. We may not delve into the merits of the story because of how well the story was told.

Then there are times when the stories we should tell are not what we want to hear.
In these times, it is important that we tell the story as it is.
It is also important that we must hear the story as it is.
Any suggestions for how the story must be told is akin to censorship.
And if you do not tell the story, you will eventually forget that you had stories to tell.
And if you decide to not hear the story, you will eventually forget who you are.