ON A FAR AWAY LAND

- Chongrinkim Keivom
The mother tickles, the child giggles.
There, they had found, in each other’s embrace: Love-
The child in the mother’s, the mother in the child’s.
Here, they had found, a reason to life: To live-
The child for the mother, the mother for the child.
Behind the barbed wire, I stood
As I watched. Then I longed, and
The dusty ground my knuckles did hit.
My arms stretched for her fingers to meet mine,
I screeched.
“M-A-M-A”
[When I was still in the garden of Heaven,
And my great grandfather walked the dust at eleven,
It was then; I was and my mother, Estranged!
The blissful story of a mother and a child, forever changed.]
Now, of the bent knuckles, must I remind you,
And unfurl the aching for my mother, and of the pains too.
I picked the dust of many tears mixed.
“From dust I was, to dust I must.
And these fingers of mine must one day fix-
Entwined with those of my mother’s,” I hushed.
My mother’s daughter went to a foreign land.
There-with favor before the kings, she was endowed.
The keys to the doors of Heavens, in her hand,
Such was she, in the courtroom of the King, she was allowed!
This is what the King of the kings said to her.
“I appointed you priest over the people not yours,
But you haven’t celebrated.
Your eyes have seen my power and my glory in the land,
But you haven’t admired me.
I hear rejoicing in the land, out of the lips praises pour
But your eyes are dimmed with tears.
I have blessed these people and I have doubled their joy
But you produce more groans and your sorrows are doubled.”
At the feet of the Mighty her mother’s daughter fell prostrate.
“When of your praises, I want to sing;
The cries of my people, my ears hear.
Of Your mighty wonders in the land, I remember
But of the ruins of my land, I can’t forget.
You have raised me leader over the people,
But you have knocked the leader of my people,
And the household of my mother scattered.
To Hades I be doomed, if You must
For what is Heaven without my mother?
This I ask of you, Holy One, if I may
That You will restore the household of my mother
And I with my mother’s household shall-
Rejoice of the wonders and the glories,
Our lips shall sing Your praises,
And we shall Bless Your name forever more.”
The Heavenly hosts declare,
“Arise from your mourning, woman.
For here comes your daughter.
She shall rebuild your ruins and restore your household
For her tears have moved the King and her prayers have shaken
the Heavens,
Receive your little daughter!”
Oh, Mother!
(Note. The poetess personifies her tribe as a mother/her mother.)