Sons of Turan

Soft winds caress the silent groves,
Along the roads thin pine rows rise.
A raven circles — distant envoy,
A lone horse wanders under open skies.

Here mountains stand and valleys widen,
Among a thousand lands on earth —
No place has ever been more precious,
No soil of greater sacred worth.

The ruins of forgotten cities,
Old fortresses of ancient days,
The lands once held by noble peoples —
Massagetae and Saka ways.

So many wars we fought for freedom —
No count can hold the tears we’ve known:
For land and honor, truth and homeland,
For sacred right to guard our own.

Here came the early Arab marches,
Met by lions proud and brave.
Here rode the khans of Genghis’ empire,
And blood was spilled in every wave.

Yet through the storms and burning ages,
Through iron will and destiny,
The sons of sacred Turan guarded
Their living flame of liberty.

From grief, from chains and bitter sorrow
Rose simple fighters, firm and strong.
Fathers and Jadids stood together,
Side by side where they belong.

Unbroken stands our spirit, rising,
High and steadfast through the years.
Wide-hearted, open, kind and noble —
The Uzbek people persevere.

Kholbekov Ozodbek Makhammatovich