The Khan smiles upon you
As you raise skeletal limbs
From grassy flats to
Celestial senses.
Ambrosia flows from
Tea cups and tea pots,
Bottles and ladles,
Lids and anything with
Any sense of depth.
Electric fans hum praise
To cunning masters
In pointed boots and
Flat hats concealing
Snowy mounts.
Batteries power nothing
In sight of the cyclops
As he contemplates
How far away the fire is
That he seeks to play with.
“Danger!” Screams the sign
With eternal smiles
On picturesque plaques
Hanging dust-covered
In abandoned trophy halls.
All fall under the gaze
Of the approving gestures
Of the great Khan,
Approving not what he sees,
But what he sees
Beneath the cracks
Not covered by the rugs
In his circle tent.
Composed 07/01/12
Author’s Note: Gers, the felt circle tents some Mongolians live in, are quite hot in the summer. Almost every home in Mongolia has an image of the great Chinggis Khaan hanging up high. You are supposed to put your most valuable or prestigious items (aside from idols and charms in your shrine) in a high place. Higher = more important. That’s why most Mongolians don’t put their bags on the floor. That, and because they don’t want them to get dirty.
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