POEM - I Grew The Forest

I did not find the forest—no,

I grew it.

Not from grand design or divine whisper,

But from earth-broken palms,

From a silence aching for life.

It began with one seed—

Not hope, but hunger.

A hunger to shape something

That would not betray its shape,

To carve meaning into soil

Where none had dwelled before.

I pressed it deep,

That first seed,

Into a land cracked by drought and forgetting.

The sky offered no applause—

Only the weight of watching,

And time.

I grew the forest one root at a time.

Not with machines or money,

But with bare feet learning soil's mood,

With breath fogging the morning chill

As I whispered to saplings

In a tongue older than memory.

I grew the forest with patience

Longer than lifetimes—

While the world turned away

To chase chrome dreams,

I chased green ones.

And mine was slower.

And mine endured.

I grew the forest under skeptical suns,

In seasons when nothing grew,

When leaves curled like wounded fists,

And hope was an ache

Between the shoulder blades.

I learned that growth is not vertical.

It is crooked.

It is stubborn.

It fails, falters, reclaims,

But never apologizes.

I grew the forest beside death.

For every sprout,

A dozen buried promises.

I composted grief.

I watered loss.

And from it all—

A canopy.

Beneath that canopy,

The air changed.

It thickened with breath not my own.

Beetles sang their clicking hymns.

The moss memorized my footprints.

And the wind began to carry

The scent of belonging.

You see trees—

But I see stories.

This oak?

It grew from the guilt I carried

When I left without goodbye.

This fern?

From forgiveness that took root

Only after a decade of drought.

I planted absence

And called it pine.

I planted longing

And it bloomed in shade.

I grew the forest,

Not to escape the world,

But to stitch myself into it

With bark and thistle,

With acorn prayers and thorned hymns.

People came.

And people left.

Some stayed, like lichen.

Others scorched like lightning.

But still, I grew.

Even when the headlines said:

“Too Late.”

Even when bulldozers danced

At the forest’s edge

Like prophets of ending.

I grew louder.

Not in voice—

But in leaves.

They rustled with defiance.

I grew the forest into memory.

So that even if it burned,

Its smoke would rise like scripture,

Its ash would write its name

In the marrow of those who once walked here.

Birds returned—first few, then many.

They nested in the hollows of doubt

And sang as if they had always been.

Children ran here—

Their laughter making foxes pause,

Their small hands cupping frogs

As if holding emerald secrets.

The forest became

A language again.

I did not grow Eden.

I grew truth.

Truth with dirt under its nails.

Truth that bends in wind,

Sways but does not surrender.

Truth that shelters,

And remembers the hands

That first reached into soil.

Now, I sit beneath its breath.

The trees no longer need me—

That is how I know I succeeded.

They stand,

Unshaken,

Even when I do not.

This is legacy,

Not carved in stone,

But rooted in something deeper—

A contract with time

That no monument can mimic.

And when I am gone,

Let it be said:

Not that I built,

But that I grew.

Not that I owned,

But that I served.

Not that I passed,

But that I became—

A rustle in the undergrowth,

A shadow in green light,

A hand still digging

In the soil of the soul.

Because I did not find the forest.

I did not inherit it.

I did not deserve it.

I grew it.

And it grew me.

Short Summary of "I Grew the Forest":

The poem "I Grew the Forest" is a reflective, deeply human narrative about one person's journey of cultivating a forest through resilience, patience, and emotional transformation. It explores themes of grief, healing, environmental stewardship, and personal growth. Rather than depicting the forest as a natural inheritance, the speaker presents it as something earned—grown with bare hands, emotional depth, and years of dedication. Through metaphor and imagery, the forest becomes a living reflection of the speaker’s soul, trials, and legacy. Ultimately, it’s a powerful statement about creating something lasting—not for praise, but for purpose.