Siberia

Siberia is wide, harsh,
a place of exile and melancholy,
freedom dwells here,
and the forests here are beautiful.

The period of winter here lasts long,
summer is too short,
the endless road carries away far

into the vast expanses,
dreams are carried away into the distance,
and my gaze is led away
from the snowy canvas.

Here and there rivers meander,
with banks in willows.
The hills: in cedars and birches,
on legal rights here,
live and excite,
with their beauty, completely.
I sometimes draw this land,
on a creative wave.