Today, looking from Himalayan heights

Far to the West, I see a rising young sun,

Our West!

Russia, the Land of Stalin, kissed by the waves of twelve oceans;

In the high Ural air, a red banner unfurls

A star whose radiance vies with the sun.

In the morning’s light, Kremlin minarets stand awake

From where hundreds of red stars

View with love the coming spring.

.

Thousands of martyrs’ blood stain Stalingrad’s crimson brow,

A proud monument to the victory over Berlin.

Thousands of cities throb with life; new cities spring up;

Myriads of rails join cities’ hands with iron grips.

.

Long trains with chests thrown forward, 

Run to mills with Ural ore, Baku oil and Kuzbass coal;

Intense flames, molten silver, black diamonds

Pour forth from joyous hearts of a thousand mills.

All industry sings an eternal song of Prosperity:

.

Chimneys reach to the sky,

Ovens brew molten lead

And steel;

Machines mould metals.

.

Engines jump and dance; 

Looms whirl and whiz,

Steel hammers strike;

Sparks fly 

.

As molten metal splashes cold.

Rollers bob, pistons twirl,

Tractors whine,  

Cranes crush rock,

.

Looms weave cloth;

Mines pour for priceless riches,

Gas and coal are distilled;

Metals are transformed into vital parts.

.

Workers’ foreheads glow,

Their arms shaping beauty, 

Their hands spinning the great Wheel of Life;

All sing a song of Peace.

.

In morning’s light, Kremlin minarets stand awake; 

From there hundreds of red stars 

View with love the coming spring.

In Ukraine’s valleys, on the banks of the Don, sway fields of wheat; 

Here, no separate fields; fences and marker 

Are flushed away in a surging sea of plenty. 

Fragmented land is now one;

The air swells with songs of freshness.

Farmers sing of Prosperity:

.

From our fields spring life;

This is Stalin’s kindness,

Stalin, who gave us work,

Who joined our hands as one.

.

Life is transformed; labour yields results:

The fields, the grain,

The bins, the land—all are ours.

This is Stalin’s kindness.

The Don and Volga clasp hands;

Masts look to the sea;

Ahead, ships sail 

As boats men sing:

.

Our flags, our sails, our desires high; 

The currents understand. 

Long live Stalin, Father, Red Beacon, our Pilot in the storm,

Captain of our ship, Leader, Master of our sails.

.

From heavy rocks stream that river’s mighty flow;

These currents, storehouses of power,

Liquid might, liven machines,

Colouring cities with night lights, moulding beauty.

.

This is the mighty Soviet chest where spring blooms,

Where youthful aims—

Love

And warmth—

Animate youthful action.

On this chest beats Moscow, 

The heart of learning. of peace,

Of spring and light, of truth and love, and-there—

Stalin himself, the sole Leader of this world.

.

In morning’s light, Kremlin minarets stand awake.

At the crossroads, a procession passes, or is it a roaring sea?

On thousands of flags are written slogans of peace; 

Youth inarches and the hearts of earth and sky beat and dance.

They pass in line, Son of Russia; from the Ukraine, from Georgia;

As lines on a page pass Cossacks and Tajiks,

Armenians, Bosnians, Finns, Tartars and Turkmen,

Kyrghiz and Khakasians, all with heads bent forward, 

Marching, advancing, singing:

.

Our message: Peace, our work, To Build;

This is revolution’s surging wave;

This is brotherhood’s song.

.

~~~

.

Above, airplanes dive,

Dropping roses upon the youths;

From buildings, millions of roses shower them;

From balconies flutter handkerchiefs;

Fathers lift sons to shoulders,

And even children raise their fists 

As bunting and flags wave over Lenin’s land.

.

From: Jāvidān̲ (Forever). Bambaʼī: Idārah-yi Adab va Zindagī. n.d. (c. 1955). pp. 87 – 108