Cranes

I sometimes think that riders brave,
Who met their death in bloody fight,
Were never buried in a grave
But rose as cranes with plumage white.

And ever since until this day
They pass high overhead and call.
Is that not why we often gaze
In solemn silence at them all?

In far-off foreign lands I see
The cranes in evening’s dying glow
Fly quickly past in company,
As men on horseback used to go.

And, as they fly far out of reach,
I hear them calling someone’s name.
Is that why sounds in Avar speech
Recall the clamour of a crane?

Across the weary sky they race,
Who friend and kinsman used to be,
And in their ranks 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 hear my loud and strident cry.

Translated by Peter TEMPEST


The narration about the song «Cranes» which had become not only poetical but vital phenomenon eternal monument to those who left on battle fields.
Meditations about peace and war, about high predestination of human — begin to do kind deeds.
A prayer to hear at last the white cranes' calling all of living on Earth to peace and brotherhood to all forgiveness.

 

		На главную страницу