turn when fighting starts
muster forces from the heart
walk away in peace
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,
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,
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,
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
image credit: along the kerry way – ireland http://leiraenkai.deviantart.com
poetry credit: Margaret Atwood