In a barren desert, the scanty land,
On a ground, burned by sun to total,
Anchar, as one of the safeguards stand
Alone in this endless world.
The nature of the hungry steppes
Had born a tree in a state of anger,
Filled with a poison its green crest,
Its roots completely satiated.
The poison drips along the bark,
Melting to liquid by a heat,
Then goes rough in the evening time
As a transparent thick pitch.
No any bird is flying to
Or tiger coming near — wind
Touches the poison-tree in move
And flies away, transforms to evil.
And if a cloud in the rove
Waters the leaf by a sudden rain,
The poisoned liquor from a bough
Eventually trickles into sand.
But one man forced the other man
To go to anchar by a killing gaze,
A slave obediently went
And brought the poison in next day.
He brought the mortal tar and rame
With the faded leaves, his pale forehead
Was grooved all with a cold sweat
Which flowed down his ill body.
He brought, grew feeble and lay still
Under the vault of the tzar hovel,
And died then at the mighty feet
A poor slave without fortune.
The tzar had saturated well
With poison his obedient arrows
And sent them as the fatal death
To all the neighbour countries alien.