When the brids were flying past over my head,
I realy wanted to fly with them.
Just like their feather and wing,
Becouse I was fed up your mim.
The trees are climbing beneath my feet,
When I am standing on the peak.
The breeze whispers so softly,
And brushs my hair whose the weak.
I am so weak to fly today and future,
Not s the dirds or my love song.
But who can say decisively:
'This will is absolutely wrong.'.
Yes, I am not waiting for anyone,
And not waiting for your sweet voice.
I am too look forward on the Tianshan*,
For a beautiful white winged horse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.