Page 52 - ELES BOOTUR (2)

5 О PETR OGOTOEV

Carrying its seven-edged arrow.
His bewitched spear
Hold down — screeches,
Hold up — shouts out,
Lying flat — groans,
Reached out — sighs deeply,
Its tip shines in the sun,
Its blade is cold,
It’s thin and wide,
Beauty’s eyes can be reflected
From the opposite bank,
Good-looking man’s face
Can be reflected from the valley,
Its long handle is decorated,
Its tip carries misfortune,
Its blade is cursed.
He hung it on the right side.
His threatening sword
Bleeds hold up or down,
It’s always ready to kill and
To take aside any sorrow.
Leaning upon this ancient weapon
He threw open his wide door,
Rushed out onto his yard
Standing just in the middle of it
As a huge ox ready to butt
He was waiting for the devil.
The infamous devil
Agitated the Middle World
Sending coal darkness,
Thunder and lightning
Flashing here and there,
Spitting sparks and flame.

He was coming down like a fiery arrow —
A man of a tall larch height,
Smoke-black, short-legged,
Having ten-sagened horn,
Fiery eyes as large as bowls,
A throat pouring sparks,
Sitting on his eight-legged sledge