The nerve raised its brow,
Like a snow-slip came down.
O God, how many impudent souls
Have already turned into copses…
But virtue not always suppresses vice…
Look at the mercy
Turning into the worm,
And bullying the roots of the vine…
Look at the man you have trusted
He is a traitor now,
Look at your former friend:
He harrows all he had plundered,
He harrows all you had ploughed…
The bud on the branch is on its guard,
With a cartridge in its minute heart.
It will burst in no time, rise in the air,
And blind that traitor and betrayer.
But you still prefer
Spring to winter,
The bud resting on the vine –
The symbol of your country…
Wind embroiders tales
In the evergreen garden
Of sadness and fortune,
And you, too, chased by verses,
Fight against the torture.
27.01.2003
Translated from Georgian
Janri Gogeshvili
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-chased-by-verses/
