A travesty with a grotesque indication
It’s time we stripped off our garments,
And attired in our own sins…
It’s time to take off our clothes,
To throw away the queer fig leaves.
We must feel the flavor of our nudity.
Many of us: Ben, John or Pete
Spy into other people’s affairs,
And, at times, even boast of it.
It’s high time for Brenda or Betty
To trust and to believe us.
Let’s stop gloating over our shame,
Our aimless regret and remorse.
Let’s alter things, and wipe out
The suspicion sown in the Garden.
It’s high time we took off our clothes,
High time to take off those garments…
Let’s take off our clothes,
And attire in our own sins.
Time to leave in the past
The suspicious fig leaves!
3.O9.2OO2.
Translated from Georgian
Janri Gogeshvili
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/high-time-we-went-to-our-harbor/
