ISSN 2768-4261 (Online)
Khando Langri
i
again
we begin with that
under-tone of the universe; (om)
that sound which renders
silence a parable (do away with the)
pain of illness
the dust which rubs
the body raw, each speck
a tooth (unbodied).
ii.
go lightly (like this)
to the frayed edges of place;
unspool the map
picking
its threads (apart)
for rope
Pola, in his later years Mola, in her early years
counts dirty rupees holds chisel
sacred beads against rock, palms
dried orange peels against forehead
for the train ride
to the monastery. while heavy braids swing
trembling fingers
teach pala the grammar
of change: what separates
the intentional from
the unintentional, in tune with flint,
how action determines earrings, spoon
the inflection of verbs. all lost in time (but not yet)
the language of grief is
one of shuffling feet in this poem she returns:
full body prostration
braced against the humid
winds of karma to the children with
lowered fists twine wrapped waists
the size of prayer wheels
calloused hands ask the black wool tent
foreign earth too hot for Indian sun
to bear witness to the flowers she plants
sometimes – in dreams –
I see him; in oil cans, that place where
baring his tongue: she makes beauty
a sign of piety amidst the dust.
Khando Langri (she/her/མོ་) is a disabled Tibetan writer of mixed lineages born in Huntingdon (United Kingdom) and raised in Tio’tia:ke (Montreal, Canada). She recently completed a master’s degree in social anthropology at the University of Oxford where she wrote about landscape, orientation and archive within the Tibetan refugee road construction camps of the 1960s. Passionate about Tibetan land, life and textures, she loves writing about golden fish, mountains and grasslands.
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