TO BE A POET IS, RAIN, MONOLOGUE OF A TREE, ADORE, DREAM

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

 

 

RAIN

I find that the beginning is more interesting than an ending
Delicate and fragile, dark droplets of rain
listening the tight crossing between delight and disgust,
Pouring a long time from the sky.

The arrow of the clock that easy pulse
It shows short rate in the long revolutions
How does the circular rhythm absorb the space
The crystalline droplets landing in the brightest of bright hues
As I stand and listen to the sound of every moment splitting away,
Taking pity an own desire for forever to be wet to the buff.

Тranslated by L.NamdagJanchivin

 

 

MONOLOGUE OF A TREE

A feeling of wishing to cry
Because of these rustling leaves

Somehow, I can’t believe
That they’ll soon depart to the other world

And just fly away somewhere
Absorbing the beige breath of the bright sun

My heart shivers for only the mother tree will be left
Slapped by the wind, so empty after being

Loved and cherished, my eyes well up.
I will some time fade and wither away

And fly away to feel the emptiness when the time comes
I won’t remember how the moon casts on the rippling lake

Won’t be able to imagine the mist that covers the air of early morning
Forgetting the laughter of girls to whom I went in anxiety and eagerness

Going weightless in the emptiness
Applying my memories to someone else’s heart

I’ll take off to ponder something
Why am I so tender and delicate? Tell me why, My God

Тranslated by L.NamdagJanchivin

 

 

ADORE

I adore your gaze that tell the simple truth so briefly
Your gaze seems so pure like the mist rising up from the stream source at dawn
I adore your long black hair, longer than the deep dark night
Because I cares and smell your hair during my slumber pondering the past of a thousand years
I adore your straight and honest soul
You, the one who saves from the illness of jealousy
I adore your eyelashes like the deep yearning of martins that cut the sky with their tails
Because they always sketch artworks in the air like the wings of butterflies
I adore your two nipples of invisibility
Because all the tuneful melodies of the world will pour as milk from there
I adore your tender feeling of silver stars that illume in the dimples on your cheeks
Because they will always lullaby your teardrops and whisper them to the Seven Deities*
I adore your gentle walk like the heartbeat of a crane
Because it is so sacred that is doesn’t even raise the flower pollens
I adore the pure drops of rain with fragrance of leaves that drenched your blouse
Because you, who love snow, visit the remoteness of my thoughts before the rain
I adore your sighing like the dew of young grass that got alert by the lips of a foal
Because it feels like the ink I just put in my pen spatters in my shirt pocket in late afternoon
I adore your voice like the call of a stag that bellows with its head raised upward to the sky
Because it gives me the feeling that an eagle fighting with death watches the maroon rocky eyrie
I adore your soul that always yearns for silence
Because it applies the silence across all the time
I adore your bringing all the stories of being a poet into the air that I’m breathing
Because the eyes of the Deities that created you for the sake of the supreme fortune are pure.

Тranslated by L.NamdagJanchivin

* Seven Deities – the constellation of Dig BIPPER. It’s in ancient tradition for Mongolians to entrust their lives to and present offering to the Seven Deities, also known as Seven Elders or “Doloon Burkhan” in Mongolian.

 

 

DREAM

I stand alone in the steppe with fading wind
The dry grasses kittle inward to their roots

The creasy blue mountains are motionless
My soul is ablaze in my breathing air

The abbreviations of complex words fly shedding blood
I wish to get startled, the clouds gathered and covered my fear

And sent it toward the sky, while they embroidered the dimness
Shining from there without a gap to fit a needle and a thread.

It feels exhausted in the mist of the sphere of boundless wishes
Though it’s impossible to wait, yet the river gently gurgles

Reminding me the soft skift of flaking snow that fell recently
The crows go away teasing the nature of autumn that had heavy make-up

Carrying the white shrouds of the departed who left this world
My eyes, while watching them taking off, shed tears

From my weeping, the thunder rain pours
And tickle the abdomen of the silent waves

I suddenly get aware of my having a dream and cut the vein of the time
And I close my eyes again. I wish to remember everything I saw

Yet there is no scene to see clearly, it’s so vague
I only remember I was standing in the steppe with fading wind

My eyes well up and I hardly open my eyes……

Тranslated by L.NamdagJanchivin

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