ឣរគុណ (thank you)
you wonder what happens after you’re burned by the ashes
of someone else’s prayers.
this is the discord:
even after your feet hit familiar soil and
your rights reattach to the lefts in this
perplexing puzzle of being, breathing,
you’ve lost parts of yourself in the middle of your two hour flight.
parts that didn’t seem important, like that
extra wiring curled around subconscious and routine,
bolt that held together feeling and existing.
you dream of Buddha statues riding pillion to
dust-worn strangers with weary shoulders tonight,
russet and umber children of the village the next.
they are a collective in all their meals of dried fish and rice,
of 5pm sunsets and grubby hands,
yet you almost envy them.
you think they dip their fingers into the sky every night
to scoop and deposit flecks of stars into their eyes,
because how else could you explain how they shone
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