Self-Portrait

Wind on dusk hills speaks quietly to the child,Wind leaves, a fairy tale waits in the distance.Child, leave your name here, on this land,because one day you’ll die in glory.

I am a history written on this land in the Nuosu language,an infant whose mother couldn’t cut the umbilical cordMy name of painMy name of beautyMy name of hopeMy name is the poem of a manthat a thread-spinning womancarried in her womb for thousands of centuriesMy traditional fatheris a man among menPeople call him Zhyge AluMy ageless motheris a singer on the landa deep riverMy eternal belovedis a beauty among beautiesPeople call her Gamo AnyoI am a man who has died a thousand times, who forever  sleeps facing leftI am a woman who has died a thousand timeswho forever sleeps facing rightI am the friendship that comes from afarafter a thousand funerals beginI am the consonants quivering in mothers’ throatsat the climax of a thousand funerals

Although I am present in all of this,in truth, I am the struggle between evil and righteousnessover millions of yearsin truth, I am the descendant of the love and illusionsof millions of yearsin truth, I am a wedding never completedover millions of yearsin truth, I am all betrayalsall honestyall birthsall deaths

World, please hear my replyI am a Nuosu