The Breath Of The War Poem by Ilman Yusupov

The breath of the war is touching the smoking skyline,
Bloody rain is falling on the burning forest expanse.
Mortal foes turn to ashes the homes of the country of mine,
Mothers, hunched up with grief, weave shrouds for their sons.

The memory springs slake the thirst of the stone roads of war,
And in honour of freedom, give out the herbs alms of spray,
Straining the tempered thread of the fight ever more
The centuries threaten the foes with the sword of gazavat*, to-day.

The mountains call one another, so the echo is hoarse
Hordes of enemies trample the sacred land of fathers of ours
The towers of ancestors call this place Nokhchicho, as a matter of course,
Reading the letters of courage with the eyes of loopholes in the towers.

*Gazavat - holy struggle for freedom.