Yerlan Nurdykhan

The bird of time grew tired, broke her wing,

Her eggs having laid in old reeds far below.

The phantom of tomorrow’s day is weeping,

The newborn of silence having hid in twilight's glow.

The moon licked the cream of blackened seas,

And everywhere autumn's red mare neighs.

As stars fall down barely leaving a trace,

So words of sorrow burst from my throat with grace.

Perhaps that was the weight of heavy dreams,

(Like winter forests of our immense Altai).

And the bird that lives in the depths of feelings,

Flew off from a snowy branch with a winged goodbye.

I asked, "Where dwells that bird?

So swiftly it vanishes into the night,

So light her stroke of wing unheard.

To that bird’s wing, I tied a letter,

And instantly the lifetime cut her sorrow’s fretter …