The Silent Forest of Self

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 A forest of self, in whispered sway,

where strands of desire softly play.

Silent symphony, alive and free,

a mirror of what we yearn to be.  


Crown and curtain, veil and sign,

each lock a story, yours and mine.

Shimmering sunlight, storm's fierce might,

it grows, it falls-day and night.  


From navel’s knot, a dance begins,

a language of surrender, of skins.

Touching senses, stirring fire,

unspoken words of deep desire.  


On limbs it curls, in gentle streams,

holding memories, fleeting dreams.

The subtle thrill, the quiet plea,

a mirror of our intimacy.  


Around the crown, commanding, dense,

a throne of thought, of confidence.

Fear, pride, longing, shame-

each strand whispers our name.  


Where heat ignites the ember’s glow,

it pulses, alive, in vibrant flow.

A symbol of our primal art-

beauty, power, and the heart.  


Above the lips, it bends in grace,

around the neck, in tender embrace.

Along the arms, a rhythmic tune,

a dance of life, a silent monsoon.  


Serve it, love it, hold it tight-

a fortress dark, a beacon bright.

More than silk, more than hue,

it’s the story of me and you.  


A forest wild, a sacred grove,

the silent ruler of our love.

It whispers truths we long to see-

the wild, the tender, the free.  


Each strand a thread in life’s grand weave,

a testament to what we believe.

In every tangle, every strand,

the quiet strength of human hands.  


It guards our secrets, keeps them near,

a silent witness, ever clear.

In its sway, our fears and pride,

our tenderness, our strength reside.  


So let it flow, let it be known,

a kingdom built from flesh and bone.

A forest deep, eternally spun,

a silent song for everyone.



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