The Spell of Forest

I wandered, With hands brimming with illusion, And a patient vision Trailing after me. Its feet As though brushing the hem of the sky. I followed, It wandered slowly, Among the crickets, Whose chorus, once lost, lingered beyond the long sighs of a night, Left unsung in their song. In its shadow, A forest appeared— Abandoned by the sky’s embrace. Yet the clouds wept, Quiet in their mockery Of a pond that had surrendered its lilies To the spellbound of darkness. I wandered further, Until I reached a feast Where the wind played host To leaves stilled by silence. I had forgotten the vision, But it had nestled deep Among the dry wanderers of the night-bound forest. I reached out my hands— A shadowed vast enveloped me. I could not see it, Yet it kissed me gently, Within its bare being. Suddenly, The weight of its absence Seized my soul. I could not see it. The forest’s enchantment Had blinded my eyes, Chained them to its bewitching beauty. I longed to return, To tear through the darkness, But my legs, Breathless from the frigid winds of illusion, Faltered. My hands, Were the axe that felled branches, Whose seeds my own hands Had drowned long ago. I ran after it, But it lay buried deep In a murky, swamp-like abyss, Waiting. Waiting for me, Though running alone Was never enough. Breathless, I halted. The weight of a hope so vast, had worn my feet to nothing. In fury, I embraced myself. From the heat of my hands, The illusions, once feathered wings Tucked behind my back, Turned to ashes, Scattering, bit by bit. Suddenly, I fell— Fell into the sky. Yet the forest clawed at my throat, With the desperate pleas Of its branches. Its cries could not, Would not Anchor my unbearable lightness. High above, I saw a mirror, Veiled in smoke. In its heart, A woman, lost Amid the black forest’s sneers, Clutched herself tightly In her own arms.