If a tiger would come alive,
from my paintings and sketches,
Could you make a wild guess,
What it would be.
Would it be a young and macho breed,
With the vibrant stripes of black and yellow,
With his snarling ferocious teeth and whiskers,
Would he scare away the flock of deer at the river banks.
Would he attract the tigress in the thicket,
would he show his skills with a quick kill or two,
Would he roam around the jungle majestically,
as if he were the king of the forest.
Or he would be an old and tired tiger,
Who had seen his hay days with flock and kills,
His flashing carishma he can only vision in the river reflections,
He would just yawn and slumbers in the broad day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
To cuddle and softly lie upon With no fear for he does not kill Just for showing off might and power Rather stretch and yawn together The majesty the assuredness Can not be matched by younger ones! The silver on a man's head Is a crowning glory forever To be held up with pride!