The life we have lost

We used to wander naked under trees; we sat by the water, just flowing. Looking up at the sky; pearls in an oyster. The sun played on our faces and limbs and warmed us, the sun was with us. We were her children when we left the forest. We heard music of birdsong and laughter in the canopy; we heard distant rhythms on bark and trunk and were silent. Time was like a melody, every day was a rhyme, behind the horizon: myth.

We are fully dressed against the cold. The trees are scarce and hollow. The sound of a chainsaw fills the air; contentious. We ran for days but it stayed in our minds, run, you must run. Now we look up to the sky and see the dark that isn’t real but blots the sun, separated from our father, slipping from our mother. There are whispers like insects crawling on the forest floor, a rumor of death, aroma of theft. We are orphans, we are lost, and we are old, fully dressed against the cold.

This piece was inspired by the nomadic Penan Tribe of Sarawak, Borneo, featured on BBC Tribe. Only 200 nomadic people are left.

Guardians of the Forest