Winds that blow in Alushta,
Hit my face,
Filling my eyes with tears
In the land of my fathers
I could not live in this land,
I could not enjoy my youth,
I'm longing for my homeland,
Oh, beautiful Crimea!
Fruits of the garden,
Are like honey and sherbet,
No matter how much I drink its waters,
It's not enough for me.
Kids will say homeland,
Immediately tears pour,
Old men stretch out their hands
And send all their prayers.
30 дек 2023
