Milarepa In the land of snow The winds blow a thick cover Over your cave. Years of mischief Block me from entering Your quiet grace in solitude. Somehow beneath the ice Your energetic body melts The tar of obscurations, And joyful, melodic sounds Spring rainbow light to All Who climb to hear you sing. Fellow Yogi, I broke my ankle Trying to ascend the mountain pass. What black karma do I possess That keeps me from your songs; Strains my step in deeper darkness; Blocks my open ears to listen? My melancholy yearning looms Enough to blow my trumpet bone. Lying in the snow, I might have blown A small crack in your cave's door To welcome me to Shambala, But my feet, frigid from an icy wind, Have not sensed your fire warmth. Still with broken ankle, I rise. A cratered moon guides my limping.
Jon Inglett is a Professor of English at Oklahoma City Community College. He was inspired by the natural world from his youth, particularly the lakes, small forests, and mountains in Central and Northwest Arkansas. He has self-published his work over the years and is the faculty advisor for the Absolute Literary Journal at Oklahoma City Community College.
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