Zhuravli (The Cranes)
by Rasul Gamzatov
I sometimes think that warriors brave
Who met their death in bloody fight
Were never buried in a grave
But rose as cranes with plumage white.
Since then unto this very day
They pass high overhead and cry.
Is that not why we often gaze
In silence as the cranes go by?
In far-off foreign lands I see
The cranes in evening's dying glow
Fly quickly past in company,
As once on horseback they would go. |
And as they fly far out of reach
I hear them calling someone's name.
Is that not why our Avar* speech
Recalls the clamor of a crane?
Across the weary sky they race
Who friend and kinsman used to be,
And in their rank I see a space --
Perhaps they're keeping it for me?
One day I'll join the flock of cranes,
With them I shall go winging by,
And you who here on earth remain
Will listen to my strident cry.
(Avar* is a language spoken in Dagestan in southwestern Russia, the birthplace of the author.) |
 |