Facing rows of enemies is our leader: Stalin!

.
Dazzling star of Mother Russia’s eye

Whose brightness illumines the earth,

The earth and the homeland,

The guarantee of whose freedom is martyrs’ blood,

In whose foundation is the sweat of the people,

The leaven of their toil of their brotherhood, of their love;

That earth

Its grandeur,

Its glory—

Should I be a silent spectator to this struggle?

Should I hand over Paradise to Hell?

Should I not be a warrior?

Should I not raise my sword to defend the country

In defence of my beloved Paradise?

In this Doomsday tumult, shall not my song of longing

Come to life, to happiness

And penetrate

The hearts of my countrymen?

O, the light of my eyes, O my darling soul,

O my sons,

Where is my steed with lightning feet? Bring it!

Where is my sword, thirsty for blood? Bring it!

My songs will echo in those places

Where the leader of my caravan, Stalin, stands.

.

My young country,

The glass of my young red wine,

The world of my newly awakened happiness,

My walking cypress, my young country

Where the criminal beasts, conceived in sin,

Have laid their feet with dirty designs;

A newly awakened bud, a newly born man,

My young country!

It is truly said that earthworms,

Fearful of their untimely death,

Trembling, frightened,

Come out of their holes.

Close the mouths of those holes with your steel

And tell the fascist jackals

That this is the first and last melody.

O, light of my eyes, O my darling soul,

O my sons,

Where is my stead with lightning feet? Bring it!

Where is my sword, thirsty for blood? Bring it!

My songs will echo in those places

Where the leader of my caravan, Stalin, stands.

.

This is Judgement Day, the collision of 

Two worlds, one old,

One new.

In one the limping foot of a dying hag,

A receding shadow;

The other, the rising breast of youth,

A pungent, strong wine.

Crawling on their stomachs, these impure, filthy

Lizards,

Beasts of the barbaric age,

Oppressors,

Carrying the clamping mouth of greed and slaughter,

Keep coming night and day

Against my royal falcon.

Never will my songs go wasted

Nor the songs of my country.

My royal falcon will always be triumphant, victorious,

And the lizards will lie sealed in their graves.

My falcon, my Stalin,

And my baby falcons not yet named,

Will soar in triumphant, glorious space.

My countrymen,

Go and spur your horses!

Join the Red troops!

Become a passionate stream, a lightning flood and flow!

Become a sea of red-hot, molten steel

And turn into a wrathful whirlpool

And send the Fascist pigs

To hell.

O my Balkhash, where is your red copper?

Tell it to become a spear and fall upon the enemies’ heads;

O fishermen of the Caspian Sea, O divers,

Bring your stock

And sacrifice it for the country!

Tell the mines and call out to the fields

That they should bring the products of their years

And sacrifice them for the country.

Here are horses; here is wool; here harvests!

O my beloved country,

All these are yours, all yours.

Stalin has called us to the battlefield;

He has given us the message of the struggle.

.

Route the enemy from the region of Paradise;

O Kazakhstan,

O my country,

Gather your strength and rise up!
Rise up with a thousand dignities, honour, and glory;

With a thousand pomps,

One soul, one body,

And consume the ashes of the filthy enemy.

.

From: Bisāt̤-i raqṣ (Dance Carpet). Ḥaidarābād, Inḍiyā: Istiqbāliyah kameṭī jashn-i Mak̲h̲dūm, 1966. pp. 104 – 12