Chovdur Khan, the iris of my eyes, the pillar of my soul,
You died, you are mourned,
The fighter for the Goklen, wanted by the people,
You left your people unprotected, Chovdur Khan.
The foes wouldn’t dare to come when you were here,
The ones who came regretted much seeing your strength and power,
They couldn’t reach the land of the Goklens, over the mountains,
You left us among snakes.
The fate had made your blossoming life fade,
Severe wind had torn away your buds,
Mountains raised their heads in sympathy,
Filling their eyes with tears in mist and snow.
Who is that lucky one to get the bow of Isfahan?
Take my word for granted, your place is in paradise;
Goklen and Yomut – your palaces are ruined,
Fate has destroyed them as something not needed.
Magtymguly, your entrusted friend, your wise adviser,
He is unable to hold back his tears,
Mist has covered the mountains’ belts and tops,
Days and months have passed in endless mourning.