Let voices not follow, let silence not desert, The echo of my steps is talking to me - I am walking through a forest.
When forests cry, they fill up to the brim. Some trees rise above, but most drown in floods. There is only mourning - no listeners, and no words.
Birches, pine and bamboos strive for light and space. Creepers cling to them reaching for the sun. In depths of rain forests there is only dark, but they do not give up...
Sometimes forests dry, dwindle or desiccate, or burn in wild fires for no fault of theirs. They simply lie dormant - waiting to come back.
I left my stories behind so I could hear them whisper - how leaves rattle in sorrow, and stems sway in distress. I could almost hear them say how they lived through too little or too much.
