The forest is cruel. The forest is kind.
The forest is generous. The forest is selfish.
The forest curates. It also allows.
It finds darkness
by following the light.
It is the seed of chaos ,
the wild laugh
in the kind of no man’s land
that professes ignorance.
The forest remembers, and the forest advises.
The forest is the audience to the moon’s guffaw.
The forest nurtures. It also ruthlessly kills.
It teaches insolence to the cuckoo. And practices endurance with the mould. It learns wild, untramelled desire from the frenetic antechinus who copulates until he dies. It is the absurdity of the police state, that holds within its womb seeds of dissent. Little saplings that grow with the fervour of freedom.
It breathes with the fortitude of ripple-less lakes . And smites with the audacity of lightening.
The forest listens, without you knowing. and if you listen, maybe you will know too.
It’s an archipelago of eyes. fireless tongues of desire. hands that can coccon or snarl.
It is a virus, the language that the gods forgot. It is the birthplace of magic. the wound from whence life sprang.
raw, flaming, present.
listen to the law of the jungle.
It is the clothes to your naked soul.
listen because there is no law
listen because your soul will always be naked