I’m just a mighty tiger in the taiga.
My twisting stripes are yellow, black and white.
A lonely king without his suite – the tiger,
I’ve got no court, but have my power and pride.
Where is the end of my hard days?
God knows.
Where is a precipice on my path?
It’s so deep.
I break my way through heavy rains and snows
And sometimes have no time to take a sleep.
In your false world I am an outsider.
And you pursue me as a social outcast.
Aren’t you afraid of claws and fangs of tigers?
The hunter’s way to victims’ fate is fast.
And in the moonlight night I lie in ambush.
Two moons are shining in my amber eyes.
In this old world the tiger is a gambler.
The winner lives along, the loser dies.
The forest is my shelter and my fortress.
There in my dreams I hear birds chat and sing.
My prey is always rich near river waters.
My stripes expand in my leaps like a spring.
I’m just a lonely tiger in the taiga.
I see no rivals and no serious foes.
I stroll about the mist, the mystery tiger,
The stripy power on the mighty paws.
Moscow
March 1, 2005