Whisper of the Last Tiger

In the silence of dawn's embrace,
A whisper lingers on the breath of trees—
The tiger, unseen, slips through the fading night,
Its stripes like the shadows of lost memories.

Beneath the canopy, where the sun surrenders,
The last of the rivers carry secrets,
Where paws have pressed in ancient mud,
A dance of survival, etched in earth’s pulse.

The forest hums with echoes of a life,
A roar diminished to a sigh,
As leaves fall like forgotten promises,
And the wind mourns what it cannot hold.

We chase the ghost of what was wild,
Through thickets of guilt and reverence,
Yet in the quiet, a prayer rises,
For the soul that once roared in fire.

Now, the world grows still,
As the tiger's spirit drifts into the mist,
Leaving only the memory of its stride—
A whisper, fading, into the endless green.