Call By Vasily Bargachan Poem by Yuri Starostin

On my cooly land
The towns grow up,
And by the evergreen taiga
The stretched wires are.
But a current is not only flowing
On the iron wire,
An age is swift, like a bird,
Has stroyed us on the cities.
And the fathers naive children
Are a reindeer herders, a fishermens,
In the twenty first century
We lights the beacons.
And with the great interest,
Enjoying the novelty,
We follow the way of the progress
On the pillar road.
Only my step, like the ancestor has
Is easy, is bit - I am eved!
I hear the rustling branch on
In the midst of the concrete walls.
The city of my heart is not pressed
By the view of a stone mass.
In my sleep I go skiing,
Feeled a snow fragrance.
Before me, the squirrel dance is,
A drum tapping the woodpecker throws up,
The mountains by the stone fold
Before the Nera are lying.
And a standing is in the water, like a chunk,
The grandtop Prince - taimen:
Whether a monster
Neither a fish
Either a larch shadow!
And takes me memory
By a dew path to the taiga,
Where the flame of the living fire
Are dancing fury on the run.
And in the green wood,
Hearing the time steps
The clumsy is dethroned
And carried deep into the taiga.
And behind him, by the tail flashed
The silver Fox
Run, leaving on
The precepted forests.
By the full chest I bread
The air of the sunny day
And go on, exulting by the soul,
In those lands where waiting for me!
Where the reindeer trails tape
Torn in a moss space,
Where the centuries legends
The flame-breathing fire gifts.