Grass, growing in the east
in yellow waves, and
kneeling and bowing
for so long
to the exalted east.
I place my aching head
upon its warm breast.
It strokes my brow
with its yellowing fingers,
my tears falling thicker and thicker,
covering the silksoft lichen.
An inner suffering
rides upon waves
into the east,
marking my warm body,
and grasshoppers flock
into the silent aeons,
dispersing the light
at the final moment of rest…
And for some time yet to come,
its face unchanging
in golden waves, there will be
grass, growing in the east.
Bankok
for the Taiwanese poet Yu Hsi
Tsogdorjin Bavuudorj (born 1969) Mongolia
Translated by Simon Wickham-Smith
Source: The Best American Poetry
Once again, thank you
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