Noon

by Qimanqul Awut
tr. Wang Ping, from Yusupujiang’s translation from Uighur

A horse, with worn hooves,
Comes out of the poplar woods
No sound of bells,
Only silence in the desert, trees sparkling in green.

It’s stuffy everywhere, like noon
Wind blowing in the water ditch
A woman is running from distance
She forgot her purse

Like the naan in my imagination
Soaked in salty tears
In the ascetic’s attire
Standing in line with rocks