They chant rhymes from happiness,
And in the mountain a poem is asked.
Dispels the muse of misfortune,
So as not to worsen.

The artist draws pictures,
Chaban flocks pass.
To create is the call of man,
What a torch with light carries.

Looking at the dawn in the window —
Let’s say “no” darkness.
We believe in tomorrow’s sun —
The war will come to an end.