Oh, my friends, my dear friends, my beloved, who is dearer to me than my life,
Is known to all in this world, which is as dear as a soul.
I’ll certainly go to her regardless what fords must be crossed,
I will surely settle my home only there where she belongs.
The beloved would say: I will kill my beloved with my own hands,
But for that to happen, depression should severely capture me first.
If others when in love are enslaved with the beauty of their beloved’s hair,
Poor me, my love for her has tied up both my legs and hands.
When your beloved is full of joy, having a feast with others,
Find courage within yourself to say openly: “That poor man is in grief.”
The spring will come, time will pass, and my eyes will sink in gloom,
They won’t obey me thus won’t open; they are in such a deep sleep.
When asked by those who don’t know, tell them my poor name,
That I am Gerkez, my motherland is Etrek and my name is Magtymguly.