It’s been too long since I’ve presented any Mongol poetry. It’s another aspect of their culture that is almost unknown to westerners, even though examples survive from over 800 years ago.

If you would like to learn about and read more poetry, visit previous posts here and here and here.

This one has  a subject dear to the heart of pretty much every Mongol…horses:

The stories of my people soar with horses,
With wings they reach the golden sun.
The wind riffs through their untrimmed manes,
And, down the skyroad of Khormast,
They return to the lake like migrating birds,
According to the customs of the golden earth.
The poems of the elders soar with horses,
With wings they reach the vibrant stars.
From the herds of letters formed within the month,
We have taken these migrating steeds.
And, from the hitching posts of our poets’ horses,
We have taken off for distant roads.
My horse, fly high, oh my horse,
Fly high, into the worlds of my desire.
From our wise elders’ heights of brilliance,
I offer my song to the spacious earth.
My horse, fly high, oh my horse,
Fly high, into the worlds of my desire.

By Ochirkhuu (1943-2001), translated by Simon Wickham-Smith