Thursday, April 12, 2012


Batkhuyag Purevkhuu
Born in Ulaanbaatar,1975.  “Khuree guys” Association end member of Mongolian Writers Union
Graduated from the University of Oriental Literature, National University of Mongolia and Pedagogical University
Defended Ph. D degree in the thesis “Sociology on values of Mongolian literature”
“Golden feather” for the best literature in 2004, 2007, 2008 and 2010
Mongolian Writers Union Awards of 2009
 Get a way.. Khuree guys in 1998, Runaway or landing strip in 2004, Colorful universe in 2006, New smell and me in 2008, Red city heart in 2010, “Godless place in 2004, Bronze heart in 2006, Time of specialty in 2008, the place for karma in 2008,“A bird called Sky in 2010, “Stage less plays”, “Sociology on values of Mongolian literature”, “Narrating on poetry in 2006, New sense in 2008, Not standard reason in 2009, Dedication for not standard thinking of Mongolian literature in 2010

*                  *                       *
Knocking at my door,
Autumn rain enters
And wets me completely.
I will stand here long,
Counting waters
Dropping from my chin.

*                  *                       *
I was reading Blok to you.
You promised you wouldn't leave me and,
Through all the trees on a high mountain,
You whispered your love
             In the dawn, I will be joined
             With you in the depths of my heart
            By a long, unseen, chain
I was sitting playing with my hair.
You spoke to me, and
Not even an accountant could forget its melody.
At that time, it seemed to me
                  That every single day was spent in heaven.
                 So now I 'II read Blok to you.
                You re dozing...
               Sleep peacefully, I 'II close the door gently.
               Our life un heaven is over.

                     *                        *                              *
I am a poet, and
 What I want is unattainable, unrealizable,
My heart was long ago invited
To that peaceful land,
For which creatures have yearned for centuries.
I love to rub the wind
Through my two eagle's wings and,
Offering a rose to every thought,
To pierce the heart.
I, the poet,
Must extend myself  like a road,
Must twist and turn like a road.
Like the orders of a miserable official-
A magician, a sailor ,a king or a teacher-
Seemingly born from a ocean of new new waves
I change and change again.
I wear the black hat of secrecy, and
Look upon others from admist the light.

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