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The forest
I lie against the rigged walls of a deep-rooted oak tree
As it waits patiently for my fingers to traverse its abundant layers of bark.
The glassy sap oozes aimlessly between the withered crevasses,
Finding any void to fill,
like the laughs we share with friends to escape ourselves from reality
The leaves dance incessantly amongst the comforting gusts of wind,
A place where thoughts are unbound.
Towering evergreen trees shade the patches of land,
As the bird’s swarm in native flocks, circling me from above.
Their widespread wings flaunting their streaks of earthy hued browns.
The thick smoke fills my lungs, as the pungent odour sticks to my skin
Like a bee when its stinger is barged into human flesh.
Now the smoke stains my tongue with its bitterness and hostility,
A reminder that I am an outsider,
Unaccustomed to the facets of mother natures.
My hands gradually hover over the burning wood,
As the fresh whiff of grass and damp wood lingers persistently on my toasty skin.
Yet beside me,
Velvety petals faintly brush my legs,
Refreshing me of its powdery, sweet aroma.
Nature is a compass of life,
a man’s fresh breath of air.
The forest that heals my forgotten wounds
And cradles my inner child,
Is my resort to paradise.
Copyright ©
Sibel Aksoy
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