The Land of the Turkmen

magtymguly-pyragy-portrait(Portrait of Magtymguly Pyragy, National Poet of Turkmenistan)

Between the Jeyhun river and the Hazar sea,
The wind of the Turkmen land rises above its deserts,
Its blossoming flowers are as precious as the apples of my black eyes,
Torrents rush from the slopes of its tall black mountains.
The Almighty blessed this land with His care,
The herds of thoroughbred camels graze in its deserts,
Its green meadows will blossom with colorful flowers,
The Turkmen steppes are filled with sweet basil.
Its fairies will appear in their colorful dresses,
The sweet smell of ambergris will fill the air all around,
The beg, töre and elderly are owners of the country,
The beautiful land of the Turkmen will be filled with populated and prosperous villages.
He is a son of a brave man, his forefathers were brave,
Görogly is his brother, his enthusiasm is high,
If hunters hunt for him in the mountains or steppes,
A Turkmen, the son of a lion, won’t be caught alive.
When souls, hearts and minds of tribes are united,
Their troops when gathered will melt stones and ground on their way,
When Turkmen gather around one table to share a meal,
The destiny of Turkmen will rise high.
The spirits get high when on a horseback,
Its mountains, at a glance, look like rubies,
When its rivers are full-flowing, bringing honey within,
No dam can withstand the floods of the Turkmen land.
They will not be taken unaware by intruders, nor trampled down in battle;
They are not dependent on either a curse or violence,
They will neither wither nor yearn when separated from a nightingale,
The flowers of the Turkmen will always spread the fragrance of the ambergris.
All tribes are in brotherhood, all clans are at peace,
Their destinies won’t go counter; they are the Creator’s blessing,
If the brave straddle their horses, the battle will be over,
The only path Turkmen take is toward the intruders.
They will have their spirits high and be cool inside,
They will crumble stones; nothing can stop them on their way,
I won’t cast a glance anywhere else; my soul will not take joy,
Magtymguly, the elderly of Turkmen will have his say.

Magtymguly Pyragy