history didn’t hand me a blueprint

and  /  time is always running  /  it’s the one thing that never stops  /  we can count the seconds  / and  minutes  /  and hours  /  and ask how we spent it  /

                                                                                                               maybe we could buy it again /  in one moment  /  you are holding your son  /  to your nipple  /  a ripe fruit  / blooming /  in the night  / as you blink  /  into the narrow darkness  /   

                                                                                                                   the shadows of  /  a  distant Diwali  /  flashing across  /  your cheeks /  your only light  /  as your milk  /  cooks into  /  his gums  /  gulping  /  in heartbeats

                                                                    there  /  you listen to  /  the scent  /  of incense stick  /  to clay walls  /  then the next moment  /  you are  grabbing  /  your white shawl against  /  the slicing wind  /

 

made by  /  blue metal hawks  /   beating steel wings  /  that day’s heat thick on your chest  / 

 

gripping the prayers  /  in your pockets  /  this is how  /  you follow your husband  /  to a country  / you will never /                  be allowed  /                  to speak to  /

 

                                                                          where you will nod  /  at everything they say  /

                                     you will smile  /  at everything they say  /

                                                     and you will  swallow the  /  flushing shame  / 

         when they ask you  /  “do you know what this means?”  /

                                                               knowing that you don’t  / 

                       when they ask you  /  “Can you read this?”  / 

                                                     knowing  that you can’t  / 

 

knowing that you’ve   /  sat at the work agency  /  staring at the page  / 

over  /  and  /  over  / 

your tongue  /  never fizzing  /  with the lost music  /  of those words  / 

 

those  /  (tuneless stones)   /  you pretend  /  at least  /  that you understand  /  something  / knowing this is a shame  /

                                                                                that it is your son’s cold  /  warm  /  gaze  /  in that moment  /  is what will break you  /  more than being  /  beaten  /  in the end  /  they refuse you  / 

 

and suddenly you’re  /  reaching out  /  into the absence of  /  a body  /  you’ve lain with for 22 years  /  the  husband  of  / smoke and altar fire  / 

                                                                                     to be bound  /  again in the next 6  /  lifetimes /  you may  remember  /  you cried holding  /  your breath  /  in his corner of the bed  / 

 

you may  remember  /   only  /  your body  /  understood how the  /  screams shook your flesh /  out of place  / 

 

and you may  /  remember  /  your boy  /  was sad  / 

your boy  /  not a              a boy  /  anymore 

 

/  taller  /  reaching  towards  heaven  /  the crook of another man’s arm  /  his breath on another man’s breath  /

                                                                        and you will  remember  /  “aru manche heru le ke vancha”  /  “what will other people say?”  /  you will shame  /  break  /  him  /   until  he becomes a stranger  / 

 

&

 

/  he  /  leaves you  /  alone again  /  with a stranger’s god  /  praying  /  “ god without your strength  /   

 

i  /  can’t even use my  /  own  /  two feet ”  /∎

 

Words by Mukahang Limbu. Art by Louis Bullen.