Colonization in reverse, long visa lines or quiet unheralded emigration, the journey to foreign shores continues with increased pace but not undue haste.

Why? We point to our leaders, fevered Pied Pipers playing fervent discordant notes, and dancing, prancing towards an abyss. It’s quite true, something is amiss.

There are scraps of truths, mostly lies, of our mighty warriors’ feuds, as we take our cues in the pews to mourn what could have been.

How is it, “If you were here my brother would not have died, but not the question,” How did my friend die in your care”?

Do we lament what is not while our fields are unplowed?

Are we glad we did not plant last year’s crop for the locust came at harvest time?

Are we prescient for not building the new bridge to replace the old from which men fell, for the flood rains have completely washed away the pillars of the old? 

For if you are prescient about the bridge you did not build so that it was spared the river’s fury, the great loss we suffer are not yesterday’s leaders’ errors, and they did make more than a few. Instead, we are celebrating the resurrection of men who are dead.

Pied Pipers we will have. What music moves us?

Peter Peterkin, Readers Bureau, Contributor

Edited by Jesus Chan

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