Poetry · Mohit Patel

A Forest Called Northstar

Banyans, and Neems, and Mangoes, and Jamuns.
A forest called Northstar.

I was once lost in a forest, in a manner of speaking.
Dawn turned to dusk in a reversal that came without warning.
Aranyaka.
What is the point of a forest if it is not enchanted?
Where dreams are planted, and the world becomes slanted,

I entered through the fifth liminal door.

Chinkaras, sambars, langoors, and macaques
Tigers, leopards, bears and wolves,
Banyans, neems, mangoes and jamuns,
Leprechauns, halflings, centaurs, and unicorns,
Werewolves, fairies, nymphs, and giants,
Gnomes, goblins, orcs, and trolls,
Dragons, dwarves, elves, and vampires,
Gods, demigods, pseudogods, demons.

I went on straight, in a crosswalk,
The understory was not a boardwalk,
Trees that talk, wines that swing,
Call of the cuckoo, winds that sing,
I saunter, a pauper king,
The forest of the night,
Becomes my plaything.

— Mohit Patel

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