Sainjargal Nachin - TO BE A POET IS

On a spot of the world, so unimaginable
That has flamboyant carpets
laid on every step of stairs,
Exquisite crystal chandeliers
Suspended from ceiling
Casting light straight on the floor,
The ghosts of the departed of years
Tuning from every wall and corner
And exhibits, so admirable at the first sight,

I have come today on an auspicious coincidence
At holding its door handle
It it’s like the world listens to its breath
As much an immense boredom wanders in my body
The dim light, so little that is incapable to utter,
Threads the needle of my thoughts
A human statue with straight gaze
Of which the forehead was caressed by the sun for years
As if the abstract space burns in the eyes
And the snow falls in autumn
Watches me motionless
Although I do not have the feeling of fear and worry
It’s like he is crying and mourning
It stands in pride with its head held upright
As if my heart keeps beating if you listen to
I wish to touch, feel and test
But my fingers don’t move
Only the blood running in my veins
Whisper me to hold its hands
I, the one who lives on sadness
Stand in hesitation, unable to move here or there
as if the string of a Shudarga* breaks
Like a baby merry for his hiccupping
What to do? Wait, close your eyes and let’s try to enter his body!

What a joy it is to be a POET. Тranslated by L.NamdagJanchivin