The Moment ~ Margaret Atwood

Life is a journey and at the end of it, what do we discover if not ourself. The train never really stops. It passes each station. Day passed into night. Night chase the light of day. Without emotion, With no memories. We are the passengers of this train. We longed for the next stop to arrived, to hope that it is our station. But there are many more stations still. Each one would take us to a different destination. From the stations we passed. Each of us fill our memories by the view outside the train window. Each different. Each distinct. We recall some. Yet we forget others.

I have nothing much to say for a long time. Still, i had nothing much to say now.

Caught this very beautiful poem by Margaret Atwood, a Canadian poet, by chance at this blog here. But does everything in this world happened by 'chance'?

"The Moment"

"The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,

Margaret Atwood

the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round."

- Margaret Atwood "Morning in the Burned House"