| |
The color was tired
Of variegation,
Calliope’s sad wing
Was lowered,
But like my cactus
At its eighth year,
The words, at night,
Calmly flowered.
The vein is startled
By the purple pulse,
Ink-colored became
My sadness.
Years ago, I had
Such a feeling –
The feeling so airy
And stainless…
Sweetly sing
The heavenly virgins,
Pleasant to ear
Are the rows of rhymes.
The sisters from Parnassus
Wave to me
Their curly plaits,
And ring the chimes.
***
The speechless astronomer
Mustn’t aim
His telescope
At the rhymes;
All the words
Do hit the target,
Grief eats out
The heart in no time…
22.03.2008.
Tsira Gogeshvili
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Tsira Gogeshvili
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