The Bamboo forest

A dark-green forest.

No where to be seen. No where to be heard. A forest miles away from home. A place where everyone healed.

The bamboo forest was nothing special. Yet I loved being there. I went there sad and returned with happiness. Like a magic shop, we exchanged misery for bliss. Different people entered my body, I entered theirs.

We exchanged smiles, cries but mostly memories. They gave me what I want and I offered what they needed. It never felt alone.

Even if I was isolated from the world. It felt like I belonged.

Even if there was no one around in that darkness. I felt lit.

Even if there was dead silence around me. I felt alive.

The bamboo forest was fully green. Not a shade of any other colour. The sky too was green. At day as well as night. Even the memories we shared were of the same colour. It wasn’t a colour to us now. It was our world.

We breathed green. It was in our nerves.

The bamboo forest was nothing but a home to countless lives. A sense of hope to the lives which couldn’t find themselves outside.

Maybe such a forest does not exist in real life.

Does it honestly matter if it did exist?

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