I am pacing like a caged panther.
I am growling at the crowd.
White-hot, glowing, molten anger –
Let me go, let me go, let me out!
I will break free somehow, I swear,
of the present which makes no sense,
like the infamous whistling arrow
I will shoot for Eurasian grasslands.
Keep your progress and keep your science –
things that I do not understand;
here the sky is embossed with diamonds,
here the death mounds observe a silence
over endless expanse of land.
Here the Scyths and the Mongols mingle
their shadows and their blades;
here the wings of a passing eagle
brush the ghosts in their graves.
Here the soil is rich with slaughter,
here wild horses still roam,
here the Danube’s primeval water,
like the wraith of the Empire’s boarder,
still keeps Nomads apart from Rome.
Here wind drowns out the sound
of the hooves and the battle cries.
There are memories in this ground;
in my own Mongoloid eyes.
Leave me here and do not meddle –
I’m at home in the sea of grass.
Give a horse to me – keep the saddle –
just the horse, that is all I ask.
Copyright @ Julie Deshtor 2012
