This is a poet’s holy book
In the long winter foretold by Akhmatova
I looked forward for the sake of hope
Never thinking that green, shady lane
Would be overgrown by lonely moss
The poetry of that era stood for conscience
So I once proudly told this world
‘I am a Nuosu’
It was my fated choice to honor freedom
I knew the rights of all beings to be worth defending
I was convinced a people’s deep-down sorrow
Ordained that my poems would serve as its memory
Because while other boulders were sleeping
I drank milk from the source
Of our people’s night-black spirit
From that moment my life was devoted
To immortality and wonderment
As my journey traces its route through time
No telling how many more way-stations
The clop of my horse’s hooves will pass
When weariness descends, my dreams tell me
Keep renewing these fond thoughts of youth
For only youth’s brilliant beauty
Can reclaim for eternity what was swept away!