As we wander deep into the forest of truth,
Leafless shrubs seem to crouch and hold an honest grip to the shallow, pebble strewn soil,
Endless avenues of an evergreen forest,
Leave a carpet of rotting leaves squelching at your step,
The bitterness of winter in the hills of yonder,
A thick mist clinging to the trees that delve deeper into a pondering shower,
Relentlessly seeking peace I run with aching limbs in the ravines of those darkening woods,
And all I can hear are the birds hooting menacingly to a dangerous prelude,
An outburst of thunder and the constant anxiety,
Took me to play with a hush and a surge of tension,
Inevitable as all seemed I treaded the forest willingly,
Only to reach the hand of comfort,
That came from a mother miraculously,
To bring respite in the cottage of selfless humanity.
©Rucha Sudhir Khot