Although Bairam, the feast, is on its way I sigh,
At home there's not a sack that holds a thing to eat.
The jars that held the oil are empty and quite dry
There's not a whiff of cheese and not a shred of meat.

We put no faith in God, who pity never shows —
If country bumpkins knew they'd drive us off with blows!
In every village house the honey overflows.
It's only in our own there's nothing sour or sweet.

In this wide world of ours we've not a groat to show,
And ne'er a pretty lass to set the heart aglow.
Vagif, don't ever boast about the things you know [1].
God knows our store of wisdom's poor and incomplete!

(1) Vagif means knowledgeable.

Translated by Tom Botting

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