* *
The blurred outlines of a cliffs -
A day is foggy and misty from the dawn.
He come to us, come down, become,
But the sun he has left somewhere.
He looks like a horse, that comes back
In a mist from the battle,
Leaving to lie a rider on an earth
Without a movement...
Rasul Gamzatov. Last price.
Moscow: Contemporary,1979.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem