A week-long visit to navadarshanam, a forest conservation and community supported space in the ganganahally hamlet, outside of bangalore (india) reduced all preoccupation. concerns dissipated. In the quiet of a silent mind, surfaced a feeling more primal: Unacquainted with darkness and the sounds of the forest, i felt my vulnerability. But unknown to me there was something more that was at work.

Upon my return to goa, i witnessed an unexpected and unattempted change in behaviour; i began to feed cows that passed by, with my hands instead of placing leafy greens on the half-wall that marks the boundary of the house. The fear that arose in the forest has not disappeared but the voice of the forest—the voice of contentment—has given me a new song. May the forests of the earth live on, and may we continue to live surrounded by forests.

The verses below are the song of the forest.

*Lower case nouns and pronouns in prose are part of my bid for equality: equal weight to all words in a world where all things matter just as much. Italicised for reference.

Photos: neha for kyobi.blog

For the heart must know its song
For the feet its path must follow.
Twines, they adorn
All that rises from within.
Dry pods from branches hang.
Unlit lanterns, in a blue sky.

Auburn leaves, yellowing slow
Form and dust
On an earthy floor.
Crusty terrain, brown barks,
Nourished from below.

Roots transport
Life to the living
Shrouded by form
The threads lay hidden.
A tree begins
Where its roots extend.

Destiny stands still
Bowing with gentle grace
Trust surfaces
From the contours of space.
Time does not demur,
It simply accepts.

A bird sings
A chirp, a toot, a croon.
Why that which is heard
Needs a word,
I do not know.
Belly in stark contrast
To a head as dark as the new moon.
Deep orange
Rays of brilliance,
Painted by the sun
On its feathery plume.

A mongoose slinks into sight
Hurriedly, away it glides.
A bumblebee hovers
And it alights.
The skin on my finger.
Not to its taste
No nectar to drink
It takes flight.

Two leaves tumble
Auburn and yellow
Gravity tugs
And air is moved.
A breeze lifts the leaves
They float,
Laid to rest
On the forest floor,
In sweet repose.