Check out the princess

STEPPE

On furry horses my swarthy tribe swept by.
Ruthless time exalted, punished him.
The milk of nameless mothers gave immortality.
And it was my turn to appear on the bitter planet.

My steppe! From the failure of the centuries, from the scattered darkness
in the eternal circle the hills float motionless.
I am grass in human form, just a moment
of this endless cycle.

I know the truth: the dead are the eternal roots of the living,
the roots of your and my distant descendants.
Steppe, thank you for the words, the winds, the skies
and forgive me for being afraid of your mother's womb.

Bair Dugarov