POEMS
HOW OLD IS THE MOSQUITO…
Translated from the Mongolian by Simon Wickham-Smith
How old is the mosquito
Squashed between the pages
Of the ancient sacred sutra?
From which age
Did the spirit of an insect
Just fly by?
Is losing yourself
Like finding yourself?
Oh, it's raining,
The valleys and hills are white.
Oh, to run in the rain
To the foggy mountain!
Will the wind be strong enough
To turn the rain-soaked page?
I GROPE IN MY LIFE LIKE A BLIND MAN…
Translated from the Mongolian by E. Sodontogos and Christopher Merrill
I grope in my life like a blind man.
The blind man has a cane.
I don't.
Eyes open, helpless,
In complete darkness, in the awful darkness
Of your body, like a blind man...
Somewhere a light flashed.
I asked a fortune-teller what it was.
"Your heart," he said.








