Forest therapy,
Lovers embrace trees to breathe,
Symbiosis please!

Leaves still falling all around
Painting holy hallowed ground
Shades of red, orange, yellow, and brown
The trees as kings have lost their crowns

The purest awe we take for granted
gets overlooked and slighted, slanted.
Flocks of birds or lovely mantids
This place we haunt is quite enchanted.

A holy ether fills our lungs
Our hearts still beating just like drums
Our inner truths burn bright like many suns
And creative insight our way comes.

It’s gorgeous when we do then find
pure inspiration in our minds
no longer feeling trapped, confined
the gift to see our peers as kind.

It’s practically our civic duty
to show these people their inner beauty

The light that touches everything
Is the light within you that makes you sing.

Be the Raindrops, that fall from above.
Bringing peace to Mother Earth.
Be the Clouds that hang in the Skies.
That shades Us right from Birth.
Think yourself, as the Morning Dew.
That brings green, to the Trees Around.
Be the Calm, that follows the Storm,
So the Water...Waves, without a Sound.
Smile like the Rainbow, After the Rains.
Let Sunrays, light up your Beautiful Soul.
Be that helping Hand, to those in need.
So Life....Loves U, on the Whole.

In quiet starlight beneath twin trees,
Where shadows danced in secret rhythms cast by campfire glows,
Hearts murmured softly to the moon.
Distance grown, lands apart,
Yet, a silent tether held firm.

Trails merge, unspoken flares,
souls in wordless chorus.
This uncharted depth treading lightly upon,
A tale unvoiced,
a memory held beneath twin trees.

A group of thieves found a thriving tree
So they dug it up, then all went to see

The tree had grown from roots of pain
So they were confused on why this tree was sane

Then one realized the tree was made from healing
The guilt it hid over the years was now revealing

The tree started to wilt, slowly dying
They heard the tree’s screams, even its crying

For the tree hid everything to protect its health
It was just not happy for its life and wealth

The thieves felt bad and ran away
Even if the tree would still decay

They knew that tree was once their own
The one that they had used and thrown

But they were not thieves of objects, even if they could
They were the thieves if my innocent childhood

i step out of the warzone.
leaving the worries and anticipation behind,
melancholia washed off by the waves of excitement.
to the forest i go, to the shadows of bulbous trees i hide.
away from reality, away from society,
away from the rockets and away from the bullets.

the lead in my heart dissipates.
in the branches of evergreen spruce –
my horrors and sins, caught, tangled, and trapped in wooden reach.
as i venture into the deepest secrets of these lowly woods,
carrying with me a camera, so heavy and so light –
capturing the whispers and movements of life.

this has been my tradition in years past.
when i am hanging by the thread and hope seems lost,
i go to my haven where life flows freely.
there i find the importance, the mysteries,
the magnitudes of this world – all things i have been ignorant of.
looking above to the heavens,

sheltered by the canopies of multitudes of green.
the damp, filthy earth lingers.
i am wrapped, masked, and bandaged in maternal care.
the mourns of yesterday silenced.
the wounds of yesterday deteriorates,
decays with the fallen foliage,

that gives life to something new –
these years have been a collection of videos, photos, and poems.
a trek to the woods away from the war of the extremes –
full of short-lived happiness followed by long days of sadness,
like a short summer thrill, interrupted quickly by winter’s chill –
so abrupt and so rude.

the song of the birds and the ancient branches stir joy in my heart.
the mosquitos cherishing every bit of fresh blood –
reminding me that i am alive – and very well appreciated –
a living sacrifice to aid in long winter days ahead.
now, that i am reminded of the impending cold – all this colour and life
will soon fade away and under the roof of war i take shelter yet again.

A yellow leaf falls          
And hits me in the stomach:    
Last day of summer.

Fog and mist rising,
And then disappearing behind the peaks.
Fog and mist rising
From the lake as if
The water itself is burning beneath its lurky surface.
Fog and mist rising and dissolving into the meadows,
Painting the grassland in grey and white.
Fog and mist rising and nestling in the deodars,
Reflecting the icy surface of the water in its vapour.
Fog and mist rises higher and higher than the mountain peaks as if teasing the ***** of the hill.
Fog and mist rising and tainting the hillside until nothing is visible,
Not even the roads in haunted small towns.
Fog and mist rising from nowhere and covering the hills
In blue and grey and white.
Fog and mist rising like an old curse after the rainfall dances.
Fog and mist rising and then disappearing
behind the peaks,
Where there is only the open sky.