Friday, February 13, 2009

Going to the Forest

Everyone, when gets tired of this life
Goes to forest- to be one with nature,
To see how the wind goes through
The foliages and how sun rays
Embroider earth with silvery threads.

Then they have luncheon on grass
Fully clothed in shame and gaze.
Eyes would speak to eyes and
When they are bored they would talk of
What they have left behind.

But you never know, inside the forest
Against the wetness that touches your
Naked heels, with a shadow melting
Down under your feet, the memories
Creeping all over you like weeds.

Stung by the love of a thorn
Kissed by the wing of a moth
Bled by the bite of a leech
You think you purify yourself.
But you don’t know what you are doing.

You are picking up an axe of oblivion
Cutting down all what creeps on you
Clearing the thickets of yesterdays
Building something that is yet to be
You are killing the forest for the love of what…

Don’t go to forests, let them come unto you
Even if you don’t kill the innocent sleep
Even if you are not stained by curdling blood
One day, the Birnam woods will come to you
Where will you hide then….in the forest?

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