There are men—rivers.
You should not swim up to them, follow the current and everything will be OK.
There are men – children.
You must hug them, look into their eyes and never leave.
There are men—predators,
They look through the victims for longer time,
Then they simply taste hunted meat and throw it to the birds.
There are men—old wines from the pitcher.
At first you taste its aroma and as much you drink more drunk you get.
And if you have drunk more, you’ll loose consciousness and you might kill even your own children.
There are men—Christmas-tree toys, brilliant- outside,
Empty –inside.
There are men—deserted huts.
You can find shelters in showers and wind,
Enter in it, dust and clean the webs and see how bright the furniture is.
There you feel that everything is for you,
Waiting for you. Take advantage, make profit,
If you want swing in the bamboo armchair,
Or lie in the antique bed.
There are men—Women
Constantly waiting for phone calls.
You must agree them for date and then rape.
There are men—plastic dolls.
You can’t reach to their hearts, as much as you do your best.
Because they blink plastic eyelashes and plastic hearts are beating under their plastic chests.
There are men—tornadoes.
They are moving through accurate lines,
Blowing in minutes,
They will show you their destroying strength, flood you.
There are men—blooming trees,
Forgotten to produce fruit.
There are men—there are men…
And there are men—a lot of them
Peaks covered eternal snow, ice, sun, cliff, grass, cleft and avalanches.
Only iron sandals are not enough to climb up these peaks.
You are grown up upon the sea level,
Used to eat berries and grass.
Bur you are climbing up,
Reduces the oxygen into the air and in the blood.
Others are left below—swimming in the sea, bathing in the sun.
But you must climb up, leave grass and cliffs behind at first,
Then you reach snow and avalanches and at last ice,
In which you have to walk whole your life
You are meeting the men on your ways—rivers,
Men—Christmas-tree toys,
Men—huts…
They are behind the glass,
They don’t feel that the ice in your side is getting stronger.
You find shelter under their huts turn by turn and deceiving yourself,
Pretending you are getting stronger.
You are getting heavier on the way…
Getting older… multiplying…
Sometimes you are getting angry—want to find shelter under the hut windows by.
Or swimming down the river.
You can’t stop, climbing up and up—
…And thinking, how big is the strength of highness,
How big is strength of highness…
Lela Kodalashvili
Translated by Madona Selimashvili
Unlucky Flowers
Do you know, that every year as many flowers grow as many people are in love that year. The
difference between flowers is like the love invaded in the people’s hearts.
Love is changeable with its nature
There is lucky and unlucky love.
There is unlucky love.
There is very short aged love too.
Love grown in man’s heart is as if it was influenced by the nature, like flowers. The nature of the loved man is as scented as the flowers themselves. Sometimes, people pick their love as the flowers, take them on their way, then throw them somewhere to trample down under foot. There are such kind of flowers that are loved from far away. There are the flowers put on the dead, they are thrown about the way going to the grave.
Some flowers are taken care very tenderly, planted in pots – they are called the pot flowers.
You might meet a meadow embroidered with flowers.
Somewhere in the prickly hedge grow flowers.
The main property of the flowers is beauty.
Sometimes they are withered specially and displayed in the colorful shop-windows.
But very often -- the flowers are withered like unlucky love.
Spring is the incitement of love.
Maybe that’s why the girls agitated with their first love are like the snowdrops grown at the beginning of spring, felt little warm, they opened their hearts, here and there appearing dressed in red-yellow. They don’t know yet, that winter frost is possible again and the frost causes fading of flowers.
How the people hound at the first snowdrops.
And how godlessly loses it the colors of their beauty.
Snowdrops are the first breath of spring.
Flaming breath.
Then violets grow.
Violets are as tender as virgins.
This is the time, when there is less expected winter frost and the violets, persuaded themselves, make drunk everything with their scent. But they are tender and with this they seem more unsociable than the snowdrops.
Shyness and inaccessibility are characterized for love nature.
And madness too. They are characterized with madness too. When the man can’t get over excess feelings and is mad with this feeling he is hurrying to match his pulse to the love pulse.
At this time love does not know the border.
No boundaries –promises man to do everything.
At the space of the endless enemies seem like relatives
Goderdzi Choxeli
Translated by Madona Selimashvili
