Dharanidhar Adhikari
In a forest dark, where whispers thread through ancient trees,
Where shadows linger, cast by those the woodland knows,
There dwell the wolves in sheep’s array, with hollow stares and hearts of clay.
They weave their words with silken thread, a tapestry of grace, misled,
Yet beneath the weave, a thicket dense, where thorns of greed and vanity wend,
And fruits of self, on twisted boughs, outweigh the common good’s own ends.
No chain of shame around their spirits wild,
No compass true to guide their wandering miles,
Just serpentine trails through the underbrush they carve,
Leaving behind the seeds and dreams in darkness starved.
They scatter not the spores of growth, but avarice,
In verdant groves, they bury deep the cyst
Of discord, division, deep despair,
Yet sing into the wind, as if to clear the air.
But listen, O wolves in masquerade, lost in the night,
The forest yearns for morning’s light.
A light that breaks through canopy to floor,
Not for your solitary reign, but for something more.
Rise from your dens of deep deceit,
Your vows, your howls, are yours to meet.
Seek not the thrones woven of spider’s gold,
But the heart of the woods, strong and bold.
For the annals of the rings within the trees,
Speak of cycles passed, of empires’ freeze,
Not by storm or external might,
But by rot within, out of sight.
So heed the call, the wild’s plea,
To lead with honor, to let the forest see.
Let not your legacy be one of blight,
That scars the earth and banishes the light.
Let tales that echo through the grove,
Speak of how you rose, how you wove
A tapestry of dawn, of a day anew,
Where every leaf, every creature, flourished true.
For leaders of the wild, in light they stand,
Guiding their pack, their verdant land,
Towards a dawn both bright and clear,
Where every whisper, every soul, draws near.
