"Cranes"

It is a very famous sad song. 
Author of the text - Rasul Gamzatov

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“Cranes”

(translation of Andrey)

It sometimes seemed to me that the soldiers,
Who didn’t return from bloody fields,
Didn’t lie down into our ground
But turned into white cranes.
And they are flying and are screaming their voices to us now
And they do it from that old time.
May be it is the reason why we often stop talking ruefully
When we look in sky.

The weary wedge of cranes is flying in sky,
It flies in the end of the day.
And there is a small interval inside this wedge
May be, it is a place for me.
May be, it will be a day and I shall fly
With the flock of cranes in the same blue sky
And I shall call everyone, whose I left in a ground,
From the sky by on the language of birds.

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"Cranes"

(initial translation of Andrey, corrections-AMVAS)

Sometimes it seems to me that soldiers,
Who didn't return from bloody fields,
Didn't lie down into our ground,
But turned into white cranes.
And they are flying and screaming to us from afar,
May be therefore we often ruefully falls silent?
Looking in the sky.

The weary wedge of cranes is flying, flying in the sky,
It flies in the fog at the end of day.
A small interval inside this wedge
Probably is reserved for me.
A day will come when me with cranes' flock,
Will fly in the same blue sky,
From the sky calling those, whom I left on the ground,
On birds' language

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"Cranes"
 
(It is a very famous sad song. Author of the text - Rasul Gamzatov)
(Translation revised by Robert Nviiri on 26th May 2005)
 
 
It seems to me, sometimes, soldiers,
Who didn't return from the bloody fields,
Didn't lie dead in our land, a single moment,
But transformed into white Cranes.
All along, from time immemorial,
They’re flying, calling out to us from afar,
Not that, we often ruefully,
Keep our silence, glaring up in the sky.
 
The crane formation, is
 flying, wearily in the sky,
Flying in the fog, till dusk.
And in this formation, is left a minute gap,
Probably, this is a place reserved for me.
A day will come, when together with the cranes,
I will soar in the same blue skies,
Calling out from the sky, in bird language,
All to whom, I left on
 earth.

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The Russian version (translit):

"Zhuravli"

Mne kazhetsia poroiu, chto soldaty,
S krovavykh ne prishedshie polei,
Ne v zemliu nashu polegli kogda-to,
A prevratilis' v belykh zhuravlei.
Oni do sei pory s vremion tiokh dal'nikh
Letiat i podaiut nam golosa.
Ne potomu l', tak chasto i pechal'no
My zamolkaem, gliadia v nebesa.

Letit, letit po nebu klin ustalyi,
Letit v tumane na iskhode dnia,
I v tom stroiu est' promezhutok malyi,
Byt', mozhet, eto mesto dlia menia.
Nastanet den', i s zhuravlinoi staei
Ia poplyvu v takoi zhe sinei mgle,
Iz-pod nebes po-ptich'i oklikaia
Vsekh vas, kogo ostavil na zemle.