brought me almost to the edge of frenzy, maddness, in the following poem:

Jygalybeg

I have powerful Türkmen thoroughbred, would you groom 
it Jygalybeg ?

I have also a broken and uneased heart, would you groom it, Jygalybeg ?

My bowers are shackled, my Çandybil is a grieved country now,

And our ill-fortune never awakens, unless you, unless 
you…, Jygalybeg!

Where are the mountain-like valiants who rose against the black mountain?

Alas, sorrowing are the stately valiants that fought against 
the bad lot !

Many heroic and wise fell martyred, so that I was left 
behind lonely, abandoned,

Even the dessert bent double with pain, moaning. Can you hear, Jygalybeg ?

The prosperous wealthy men were collected, suffered, and sent to exile in Siberia,

The lion-hearted brave fell as martyr in the fight and 
already became graves,

Your orphan cried bitterly, left all alone, no strength, patience, endurance,

All my land weep and my folk bewailed, the country in disorder, Jygalybeg !