The homeland responds to those who love it very much.

Our ancestors held this territory as sacred; they valued this territory and they lived here. Here exist the sacred tombs of our ancestors.

The scarlet soil of the Türkmen is sacred, beloved and lovely as fresh bread.

This land is such a fertile land that if you plant a dry stick here with sincere intent, it becomes green.

Every single seed sown in this land yields a thousand, two thousand, three thousand more.

The words scattered in this land grow into views and thoughts.

The arrows fired into this land grow into golden spikes of wheat.

The corpses of our ancestors were scattered on this land and gave birth to our everlasting affection, pride, and blessing for our territory.

Our affection and effort become a divine gift in this land, to return as food on the dining table of the Türkmen.

I began my life loving this country; I turn to the bosom of this land in affection.

There is nothing more sacred and beloved than the land.

To be Türkmen is nothing other than to love our own land.

We have become the Türkmen nation by loving this land and by uniting on this land.