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FRIENDSHIP 

Long have you lived and, still content 
To shelter from lifes storms, 
You cannot name a single friend 
To whom your lone heart warms. 

When years have passed and you are old, 
People will turn and say: 
He lived a century, poor soul, 
Who never lived a day. 

Либо Журавли. Я бы его и избрала, если правдиво 

THE CRANES 
(Translation of Rasul Gamzatovs 1976 poem) 
It seems to me sometimes that soldiers fallen, 
Whom bloody battlefields have rendered dead, 
Were buried not in soil to be forgotten, 
But turned into white cranes in flight instead. 

From that time, since their fate became a coffin 
Theyve soared, and issued us a strident cry. 
Is that not why we sadly, and so often, 
Lift up our silent gaze when cranes go by? 

Today, as evening yields to nightfalls border, 
I see the cranes in flight, their wings unfurled, 
As over fields they fly in perfect order 
Just as they marched, when people in the world 

They flytheir line extending to forever 
And call out names of someone to the cold. 
Is that not why the song of cranes has never 
Been far from Avar speech since times of old? 

The weary wedge of birds on expedition 
It flies and flies through fog, towards the dawn, 
And in the ranks I notice a position-- 
An empty space for me, for when Im gone! 

Some day in that formation Ill be flying; 
Ill sail into the skies on my rebirth, 
And from the heavns with crane trump Ill be crying 
To those of you I left upon the earth