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Fire Mother

The summoned Mother Fire
May her double-headed self appear
Worshipped and blessed
Op kuruy!
 
Our defending fire
May it forever stay
Blessed with the words of Kay
Op kuruy, op kuruy
 
Covered in white ash
Burning a young tree
Thawing the freezing spring
Op kuruy, op kuruy
 
Providing its protecting warmth
Wearing a red silk fur coat
Thirty-headed Fire Mother
Op kuruy, op kuruy
 
Before morning to this land
The crackling Fire Mother
Thunder-lightning to this land
Descended with thunder Fire Mother
Op kuruy, op kuruy
 
Thirty-headed Fire Mother
Fourty-headed Fire Mother
Its ash is spreading
Lays on the burning coal
Op kuruy, op kuruy
 
The summoned Mother Fire
May her double-headed self appear
Worshipped and blessed
Op kuruy!
 
Our defending fire
May it forever stay
Blessed with the words of Kay
Op kuruy, op kuruy
 

The Cradle of Altai

The cradle of Altai
The beauty of my Kabak Taiga
Ulu-Kaan in Altai
The beauty of the waterfalls
The beauty of the waterfalls
 
In the taiga of Kyskashtu-Oyik
The height of the mountains
The people are travelling about
My Altai of healing water
My Altai of healing water
 
Altay-Telengit, my people
Singing folk songs about my Altai
Burning juniper in Altai
May the Jalama be tied
May the Jalama be tied
 
The nature is blooming
Ulu-Kaan, my sacred land
The cradle of Altai
It will never be forgotten
It will never be forgotten
 

Oh Mr. Frost, Mr. Frost

Oh Mr. Frost, Mr. Frost, don't freeze me.
Don't freeze me, nor my steed,
Don't freeze me, nor my steed.
 
My steed he has a white mane.
I have a wife, oh, so jealous,
I have a wife, oh, so jealous.
 
I have a wife, oh, a beautiful one.
Waiting for me home, waiting in misery,
Waiting for me home, waiting in misery.
 
I'll be back home at the setting sun.
I will hug my wife, and water my steed,
I will hug my wife, and water my steed.
 
Oh Mr. Frost, Mr. Frost, don't freeze me.
Don't freeze me, nor my steed,
Don't freeze me, nor my steed.
 

Altai Our Mother

Versions: #2
I have watched the mountain ridges in amazement,
The summits are all buried under snow.
In this serene, peaceful evening,
I've lightened up my sorrows by singing.
 
O, my mountains!
O, my rivers!
O, my Altai!
Our mother!
 
O, my mountains!
O, my rivers!
O, my Altai!
Our mother!
 
The singing of the birds will echo throughout the hills.
The day of our singing will soon arrive.
Just like flowers, our nation will too live freely under the blue skies,
Without being separated ever again!
 
O, my mountains!
O, my rivers!
O, my Altai!
Our mother!
 
O, my mountains!
O, my rivers!
O, my Altai!
Our mother!