MY VERSE, MY HORSE

My verse, my horse, you and I must sing until the flowers weep, glinting dew. My verse, my horse, you and I must sing until the moon, brimming tears, sleeps in open country!

I, the verse, need a divine voice to sing until the golden sun rises from the void. You, my horse, need powerful sinews to gallop until the song I sing is spread across the lonely world.

My verse, my horse, you and I have received from the people an order beyond words. My verse, my horse, you and I have a thought of far away hidden in our heart.

My verse is unresting sleep, is unwearying exhaustion. My horse is born, upright and slender, from my wisdom. They do not begrudge us precious topaz, and we must never forget the Mongol people’s merit!

My verse, my horse, gallop quickly! We need the distant land, where the horse’s sinews appear. Again and again think of our people’s order, and gallop onwards! My horse, we need the field of the world!

In the field of the poetic world, my people, do not complain if you are equal among a hundred horses. Along the distant path, our wisdom and our muscles tire, we do not enjoy getting dust on our crowns!

My verse, my horse, you and I must sing until the flowers weep, glinting dew. My verse, my horse, you and I must sing until the moon, brimming tears, sleeps in open country!

1977 Mongolie – Yavuuhulan

 

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