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 | 
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