The ethereal hour of the telegraph has come

where the world will hear

the chime of chromium.

The eagle and the sun were in July,

but now they are in Astana,

listening to the national anthem.

A small child’s hand is placed in his big gold one.

Steel worker turned strong man of 700,000,

he sits,

still.

He is 122 out of 146.

What a low score for a country so large…

The size of Europe he is,

formerly swallowed,

now spit out.

Why is it the sun and eagles,

telegraphs and chromium?

I don’t know.

But those are the symbols of

Nazarbayev.