[Poem] A Lament for An-Sarad

Cispâgarât tvimâ rustâ'egi
Sôrkvimâgarâ, khrunsâminrâ

Timatimâki'a khvarusspâmia
TayamahicnamivariAn-Kanûsayâ

Tslomkhrakhrâsalipravkêsa 'akhrtsvamga'a,
Tslomproprôcalitârkhvamryôtoimâtâ.
Citakrâtgakhvî Sark-Aganavâmekhacârâmuc,
Cikhviyâgakhvî torwâsinekkhyômrâ.

Yôksvratkharcakhvî cicrôkhgakhvî sasarkâ,
ticcâkhvarigâga An-Saradrokhtayâcamvâkharâ.

From beyond the dunes comes the wind
The smell of the sea, the heat of the sun;

It was in the distant past that our ancestors came hither
From An-Kanû, where our kinsmen no longer dwell

Many summers and winters have passed,
And many days of wars and peace;
But the blood of Sark-aganavâme wanes,
The name of Torwâsinek dies.

An-Sarad, An-Sarad, land of my birth!
Alas, none but you will remember us.

Upon the withering grass now we shall fade,
And none knows the fate of An-Sarad.