The Silk Road

I pass valleys, a way among different civilizations
Amon different cultures, valleys, mountains under the heat of the red sun.

If only you wish, I would be a chasm
If only you wish, I would be a river
I'll hear this call under sand's thorns
But i'll overcome my hard way.

I know and I believe in words of the old shaman
He told me about a forgotten way
Not being afraid of snakes and wolves and to worship fire
The nature to enjoy and trusting myself.

The desert smells like the sea, open space and freshness
You see nothing. Endlessness. A scratch of space
Here is another silence. Like a lake, northern silence rings, and that is she
Here the silence is empty. It is no longer there
Nothing exists... Nothing
Columns of dust fly upon the desert as spirits and genies
Protecting their possessions
Sands like herds of huge horses, rising under the clouds.

Desert is not yellow - dried up, as it seemed before
It's grey-brown-yellow-green, seems more steppe than a desert
The ground is entirely covered with a dusty-green low grass
Branches of saxaul, sickly yellow flowers.

Here and there the white animal's bones is growing and picked by winds
Gray-brown, low hills and dark grey, almost black silhouettes of the Altay mountains
White stains of the nomad's urtahs
The shepherd incredibly chooses the right grey roads, thread from a huge ball
Hidden in the desert, Desert is inside me.