Friday, October 10, 2008

R. Choinom (1936-1979)


Oh, your lips, my love,
Were scarlet bows.
Your scarlet bows
You loaded, aimed at me.

Oh, your words, my love,
Were arrows without mercy.
Your merciless arrows
You loaded, aimed at my heart.

And, while you smiled gently,
You pulled back on your scarlet bows as far as they would go.
And, while you spoke your gentle words,
You stabbed at my sad heart.

It’s too late for me to resist.
Take your bullseye as a souvenir.

Translated and edited by Sh. Tsog and Simon Wickham Smith

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