шүлэг

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,

Meaningless.

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.