By TORA MIRZA

In the gardens of the homeland
Not hands, but swords were outstretched.
On either side of my way
Thorns are many, and all the flowers picked.
Aliens came in droves
And gained control of the people.
The trees of my patience
Shook and were broken.
I was born from oppression
And stood upright from death
Revenge never dies in my bosom
A sword never falls from my hand
There are swords to my right and left
Swords on all four sides
My heart has much regret
And my people have much for which to appeal
The plunderers and the bloodthirsty
Tore down the flag of the Turk
They quashed the pride of the people
And closed up the homeland in haste
It had been a famous people
Horses had galloped from the east
The past has been enveloped by smoke
This was the strength against the days
Chingiz, Batu, Jetalar
Like swine they conquer the people
By strangling and buffeting them
They overtake freedom
The land of Turan, the honorable land
The land of opportunity, the land of blood
If you cannot rid yourself of the horns of your foe
Burn, land
May the horsemen mount their horses
May the fear in their hearts be shattered
Should the foe cut off your arm
May a sword issue forth from your body
If the son of the Turk is not strong
He is callow and his destination the grave
If the pride in the heart does not die out,
Dig pits and trenches for the enemy.
The way of the forefathers gave support
So that the homeland would be defended.
The Lord God commanded
That cowards be damned.
Break away from your comforts
And make ranks.
The way of the mujahedin is your true path,
And be ready for martyrdom.
In the hands of the young Turk men
Is the blood of Alp Er Tonga.
Should the foe be on his path,
He who falls in this land is a disgrace.
Centuries-old great trees
Became great gallows.
The crosses and crucifixes in the homeland
Invite the warrior to his grave.
Should a foreign banner wave
On the roof of one building.
Do not remain a simple man,
It is a thousand times better to be earth.
If the Turk has no pride,
If the Turk has no standard or place of honor
Your grandfather's spirit will be content
If the Turk dies without living.
You make so much effort to protect your life?
You spoil the enemy.
The spirits of the forefathers curse you,
As you embrace the damned foe.
The condition for Turkness is liberty,
And its custom is pride.
The moon and star on your standard
Are light on the road of freedom.
The moon and star will lead the warrior
To the dawn, to the side of the sun.
If the standard is upright, the Turk will reach
Victory over the evil foe.
Do good works for your people,
And do not let the name of God be separated from
your tongue.
If your sword break, make a sword
Of the standard's crescent moon.
The Turk was the first on Earth
To put salt upon his food.
It was the Turk who asked the heavens for aid,
Turning his eyes upward.
The people in inclement weather
Thought bitter thoughts through the winter.
The Turk nationality was the first
To erect dwellings in the open.
The Turk was the first among the ruins
To discover the wagon.
In Hindustan, Iran, and Europe,
They chose khans as their leaders.
If the Turk lies down, Turkness will sleep,
Uprightness and pride will sleep.
Heroism and unity will sleep,
In Turan liberty will sleep.
Between land and sky

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