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I think I was born in Buranny
Where winds cutting grass were up.
They requested from the staff of the Army
For some land to entomb Kazangap.
I have lived in the plains of Anarkhay,
Carried water on a cart in the past.
Abakir and I, on his seeder, one day
Set out for the road, raising dust.
Abakir bends down departing,
Greed incites him to go abroad.
Poor Kalipa, sad and disheartened,
Is still crying at her abode.
Through the mountain paths I was driving,
Just a common truck driver I was.
Where are you, Asel, my darling?
We are victims of the envious cause.
I recall Daniar; we were standing
On the starlit mountain top!
From the haystack we listened admiring
To the silence down the slope.
I sat, singing a song, in a carriage
And fixing my eyes on the moon.
The snow-covered rocks, like encouraged,
Listened, standing around, to my tune.
I am Bazarbai, a regional hunter,
From now on wolves won’t howl again.
Helpless puppies will never wander,
I have killed them right in the den.
The blizzard to me is like symphony
I’m a strange music lover and fan.
I’m not Bazarbai, it should seem to me,
Maybe, I am Mankurt Eloman!
July 11th, 2006
20:15
Bishkek, Kirguisstan
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