Two Villages

We do not come from the same place.

Our worlds could not be more disparate,

could not be more alien;

even if we did not share a planet.

Even you, are alien to me.


You hair, your skin, your eyes,

your clothes, your speech,

your thoughts;

are bred in a place

far different

from the place that bore me.


Oh, we are aware of each other,

if dimly.

We are ghosts,

that each of us keeps to our periphery;

repulsive to behold,

too painful to acknowledge.


I am too busy,

running with wolves,

lean and hungry

to come to hail you as my brother.

Though I am told

we share common ancestors;

I do not know you,

or your fat land.


I do not know the world

of concrete structures

and glass towers

that you call home.

I do not have analogs

for technologies

and avarice

such as yours.


Here, all we know are harsh seasons;

where we survive on the wisdom

of our elders,

or we do not.

Here our words matter.

Here our stories are ourselves;

not ended in thirty minutes,

nor broken by commercials.

Our life song is sung uninterrupted

and unending.


I have been told,

that there has always been

a rift between our two villages

and that rift was drawn

by time and circumstance.

More of our people go to your world,

than come to ours,

but some seekers do come.

So is your world the future?

or is ours?


I suppose,

that I should seek to know you,

to extend a hand of friendship;

but I know

you would be too shamed to take it.

You see your world as superior.

You believe you debt is prosperity.

You think your job is not slavery.

You do not see your dependence

on technology as weakness,

so you believe

that somehow you have failed us;

but it is us who failed you.


How did we not see

that you were so entranced

by the intangible,

that you would forget how to live?

You are like a dog,


until the wolf pack howls

and then some part of you

remembers what it is to run,

to hunt,

to live.


Our two villages

sit on opposite banks

of the river of time,

neither one knowing

whether it is the past,

or the future,

but connected,


Our village

will always be open, brother.

Your past can be your future

once more.


HG -2016

Leave a Reply