Oh, my friends, my failed fate,
Won’t awaken days and nights,
Neither my tree that lost its fruit,
Nor my spring will awaken.
Oh, friends, Muslim brothers,
Nor women who left this world in a pure state,
With their souls dumped into mud,
Nor will the geese of my lakes awaken.
The garden flowers have withered,
Now the wind of the Hazar will not blow,
That Arabic has become bitter,
And the Indian melody will not awaken.
My peers and dear friends,
My fate has torn my liver into two equal pieces,
Magtymguly, this transient world,
Will drink and eat, but won’t kill its thirst for souls.