Forest Trails

today,
I don't know why,
but I think of her -
there is a longing
to rest
among the dark pleats
of her silence
and remember home...

the forest has a way
of doing that to me -
trees look like family,
greeting me with a warmth
that I cannot feel here
in my clammy skin,
drawing me into
their haunting depths
like an old repeating dream,
or a particular piece
of a familiar song
drifting along the quiet breeze,
whispering a million stories
of heartbreak and joy,
of all the living and the dying
that they've felt, heard and seen;

the forest has a way
of filling me from afar -
for when I walk the trails
that lead me gently
to her sacred bosom,
I remember what it is like
to be home.

Autumn

and a forest falls silent,
to listen to the sounds
of falling leaves,
and changing hues,
of sunbeams cracking open
trembling boughs, and
silver highlights drumming
upon dancing shadows;
where the air is rife
with a tingling freshness,
lingering memories
and unborn dreams,
dying into the stillness
of this one moment,
where a new song
will be birthed
from this sacred womb,
and carried into the silence
of a long-hushed tomb.

Renewal

to listen
to the forest
is my homecoming -
building bridges
to a forgotten place
within
that breathes
silence.
solitude.
stillness.

I come to take
a part of you
back with me,
and instead
you give me back
my whole self,
in one piece.

the forest
is where
furtive thoughts
quieten
like a tired child
hushed to sleep
by a silent lullaby;
it is where
a broken heart
gathers
its scattered shards,
coming together
as one mural;

it is where
trees sculpt
ancient stories
and whisper them
to the distant sky,
brushed by silence
dripping slowly
over their changing canvas;
a renewal
of faith -
the artist's way.
 

When I die

when I die
I don't want you to cry;
I want you to look for me
in the dew-drenched forest
where an unshakeable stillness is born
that keeps you forever loved and warm;
where a silent spring gushes forth
to quench your oft parched throat;
where the birds sing their song to the sky
with unbridled sadness or joy ;
where peacocks dance to court their mate
in a sweet and sacred self-forgetting;
where the breath wanders in and out
like a little child playing hide and seek;
where trees stand steadfast through eons
for in their changing and giving, they live on;
where the fragrant earth holds up everything
that is and is not, with unconditional reverence;
when I die
I don't want you to cry;
I want you to look for me in you.

In the Forest

I sneak in
before the sun is up
to catch a glimpse
of your naked form,
as you shake off
the shroud of mist
on an unusually cold morn;
My lusting eyes
skim the green and brown
to steal but a moment
with your elusive charm;
To see or to not see -
that is the question;
eyes open and squirm,
as nature reveals herself
in moments of vulnerability -
a newborn langur
nuzzles its mother,
his beady eyes
dripping innocence;
a caring father
strokes his newborn and wife,
a private family moment unzipped
by flashy jeeps and keyhole eyes,
intruders are not welcome;
a stunning peacock in its prime,
bares open his chest, and
displays his flowing plume
in an extravagant dance to woo his lady,
who struts away nonchalantly;
a close-knit family of chital
prick up their ears and
dart into the bamboo thicket,
away from prying eyes and loud forms,
locking doors and closing windows,
hanging up a clear "Do Not Disturb" sign;
A part of me wishes
to melt and become one
with the misty green wilderness, and
hold them with silent love from afar;
Another part of me wants
to run away from there
and leave them alone
to their undisturbed ways;
I sit with the tugs in my heart...
Can I tear myself to pieces
so I can leave myself strewn about
in places and people that touch my heart,
until I feel and understand
what it is to truly come home?