Faces of West Singhbhum

When I was a child

The sky that covered us

Had a door

I stared at the sky,

Holding my father tight on the uphill road

Below the vast sky was the forest of West Singhbhum,

The faint imprint of the past called home.

Sal trees, birds, and little creeks in between

The forest was never what it seemed

Don’t go inside it

We were told

But when men doubted the forest

It trusted itself way more

Leaving shadows of branches itched on the drifting clouds

For the rain to pierce the truth into the ground

The forest kept a part of the undivided sunlight

To spill it on the ground marred with loss and plight

But the door in the sky never touched the ground,

It hung in the air,

Hiding another universe,

Limitless, free and never to be found

Then the door disappeared like the faces behind the tall Sal trees

From one century to another,

From one ruler to another

Singing songs of freedom

were the faces that called forest their home

But shhh! we were told

Never to lay eyes on the souls

older than the Bargad trees

older than the rivers, cities, and creeks.

In my village, faces in the forest are still a secret

Like the closed-door hanging in the sky

From my life, never ever retreated.