Author Archives: kshshu

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        There is no tree
that has been seen in its original state. The bodhi tree
and bodhi non-tree entwine together, from the sky’s lock
is pulled the eagle’s key, is pulled supreme love’s helplessness
        and desperation.
The angels spread bodies’ ashes and falling leaves. Magnolias,
which bloom only when abbreviated, quench with the face of snow.
Tree of tears, as intense as if it had caught fire.
        In tears
roots and tubers flow with the current
to stretch out a cloudlike balletic neck, from the candle tip
slowly up, stopping on leaves and cold weapon gradation.
This lone sword of tears, do you dare spar with the
        forest-like war?
Sword of love, nothing but a few fallen leaves.
Sword heart points at human heart, three thousand miles of tears that blow to the blade
blowing across twenty-four bridges, from my country, from golden spears and armored horses
to deep within bamboo’s hollow heart,
how morose this white flute like moonlight.
For four hundred years, the Taj has played the Ganges with its eyes.
Only, I hear you whether you play or not, Taj.
        The Yellow River
too is blown into this teardrop called the Taj Mahal.
You don’t need to brandish real swords, Taj,
a few falling leaves will suffice to claim my life.
After being dead all these years you don’t have to die again,
have to pluck out your true heart for the sword blade, have to flow real tears.
        Tears
could be faded flowers, could be lines written in advance, text messages,
assembling the West Wind of the ancient way and the East India Trading Co.’s carrier ships
together, like a spectre.

–  Ouyang Jianghe. 17 from Taj Mahal Tears

translated by Lucas Klein

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