Monday, May 28, 2012

A group interested in the forest as having a language of its own, went into the forest in Wyanad to gather impressions. These were given form through poetry, but also installations, using objects that had been gathered from the forest.

I can’t hold
                                                                The shadows and the sunlight,
                                                                The spaces and the stillness ,
                                                                The slight stir of movement
                                                                Or the sounds of  falling ripeness.

                                                                I can’t hold
                                                                The order of disorder
                                                                And the mingling of meetings
                                                                Layer upon layer,
                                                                Side by pulsing side.

                                                                I gather just some syllables
                                                                That alone mean nothing
                                                                But when together
                                                                Sing a world.

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