Qurmangazy

Your soul's fire, in sorrow and spite,

The dombra's voice has lent a wing.

Your kuis’ melodies, wild and bright,

Guarded your homeland from slumbering.

Your proud heart, by your chest constrained,

Echoed fate's tumultuous sound.

You played, and those who once were chained,

Rose to honor, newly crowned.

Your talent rang like freedom's call,

The steppe forgot its bitter pain.

You played, and men, once meek and small,

Stood ready, spear in hand again.

To grief and rage, your people heard

Your fingers birth a wave of song,

That bore them like a soaring bird,

To future days where they belong.

Despite the clank of cruel chains ring,

You praised the steppe with the dombra's song.

In your selflessness, in your gifted string,

In your unwavering will, your glory holds strong.