ON THE TURKSIB ROADS by Gafur Gulan

Along these roads,
Old and long,
Passed to and fro
Alexander who conquered the world,
The great Caesar,
And the murdered Genghis.
And Tamerlane left his traces,
And the Mongols took vengeance,
And China attacked.
They murdered men
And they robbed the gardens.
Blood, blood.
It was bad for the living where Jugi went.

Along these roads
Very ancient,
Across these steppes
And mountains and valleys,
Went slaves and widows,
Their necks in iron chains,
Five, ten, hundreds of millions of men
Condemned, weakened,
Hunted out by sorrow—
And they came again to sorrow.

The caravans with crosses and rosaries,
Under the ringing bells and beating tamborines,
Went for months and years.
Confused and the shamans,
And Islam and Buddha,
Calling to God and offering sacrifice,

TURKSIIB-2.

Went along these ancient roads.

A grey-haired wall, but a great chain—

A bright arch built of human skulls

On earth moist with blood,

A minaret kissing the sky,

Masses of columns and a sea of flags,

Heroism, pride, and a personal eternity.

Yes, these ancient roads knew many things,
So many things.

On them rushed the hundred-million army

When the conqueror waved his finger.

The Tzar went down these roads on white elephants
To his bleeding throne.

The crown trembled on his empty head
Like a sooty lantern.

And ruin flow from Pekin to Rome,

Ruin went from Moscow to Bombay,

And the unconquerable army moved.

And all the roads were spread with human bones.

Since these roads are ancient,

Then tell us, History,

How many Tzars passed along this way—

These conquerers, these shadows of God?

Did everything melt like smoke?

Or can you count them?

Are there in your heart traces

Clear as amber, bright as a tulip,

Across the sheet on which you, History, are written—

A sheet as great as the earth,

On one side written in blood

TURKSIB-3.

And on the other in bleeding gold?

The roads pass as in a half-dream,
Gloomy and grey as smoke,
These roads in the silent spaces of the steppes.
This silence of the steppes is sharper than a sharp knife.
Let a wolf with bleeding mouth
Or a lane dog cry or howl—

What is it about?

One striking strike an alarm,
Then, as a stone thrown into a pool
Speeds rings of water to the beach,
So through the steppe, spreading in rings,
The howling of wolves swims towards the horizon.
Along this very ancient road,
For the first time and the last time,
Proceeding with honor, and built with honor,
A knight opens new pages in history.

On this very ancient road
Now only he is conquerer,
Only he is our winner
With the red flag carried without tiring
From Siberia to Turkestan.

Along this road he carried a flag
Rails and locomotives.

From Pekin to Rome, from Moscow to Bombay,
Through the desert where snakes crawled,
To the honor of blood and tears,
He carried a road and he created it as a memorial.
And we—pressing the victory in our hands—

TURKSIIB-4.

We make the road obey.

There is much sense in our skulls

Which are like globes.

A milimetre gives a thousand kilometres.

This is will and knowledge,

This is the Gosplan.

And this giant thing is the way to victories
(Which Tamerlane never saw. (dreamed)

We have surrounded the head of the world with a hoop,

And into the veins of history we have poured moulten iron.

On these roads, old and long,

The roads of the new front,

The locomotives with their lances of smoke

Have pierced the heart of the horizon—

With pride and glory, treading on the ties

Under which are buried religions, traditions,

And out-worn customs, that have no place to go.

Crushed by the bronze five-pointed heart of the locomotive.

Along these ancient roads which have seen so many things,

From China to Iran, from India to Turkestan,

Across the whole world the myriads of the proletariat

Will pass quick and fast as a steel caravan

In union and solidarity.

These ancient roads are our immortality.

And along these ancient roads

Will pass a gale of liberty

And not the smell of blood.

Give to Comrade Sjatoff the last word: