Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Maya Sarishvili

TO KHATIA

I get so tired,
With unimaginable speed
Things, news, my body rush towards me.
Your words can no longer reach me,
They shatter like the hours
In pursuit of me
And pathetically pile up in pieces.
I can no longer stop
To record in your eyes the ray of light’s explanation.
From afar I shoot swarms of dry dyes at you
And I speak to you in a tongue-tied language
Which is entrusted to other dark-coloured adults.
But when you get milk from me
I see calmly swaying
Under the skin of your temple
That silent and pale landscape of ours.

ხატიას

ხატიას

ისე ვიღლები,
გაუგონარი სისწრაფით მიქრიან
ნივთები, ამბები, ჩემი სხეული.
ვეღარ მეწევიან შენი სიტყვები,
საათებივით იმსხვრევიან
ჩემს დევნაში
და ნაწილ-ნაწილ მოგორავენ საწყლად.
ვეღარ ვჩერდები,
რომ ჩაგიწერო თვალებში განმარტება შუქის.
შორიდან გესვრი ხოლმე
ხმელ საღებავთა გუნდებს და
გელაპარაკები ძაფგამობმული ენით,
რომელიც სხვა მუქ დიდებსაც აბარიათ.
მაგრამ როცა რძე გამოგაქვს ჩემგან,
ვხედავ, როგორ მშვიდად გილივლივებს
საფეთქლის კანქვეშ
ის ჩვენი ჩუმი და მკრთალი პეიზაჟი...
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TO KHATIA

I get so tired,
With unimaginable speed
Things, news, my body rush towards me.
Your words can no longer reach me,
They shatter like the hours
In pursuit of me
And pathetically pile up in pieces.
I can no longer stop
To record in your eyes the ray of light’s explanation.
From afar I shoot swarms of dry dyes at you
And I speak to you in a tongue-tied language
Which is entrusted to other dark-coloured adults.
But when you get milk from me
I see calmly swaying
Under the skin of your temple
That silent and pale landscape of ours.

TO KHATIA

I get so tired,
With unimaginable speed
Things, news, my body rush towards me.
Your words can no longer reach me,
They shatter like the hours
In pursuit of me
And pathetically pile up in pieces.
I can no longer stop
To record in your eyes the ray of light’s explanation.
From afar I shoot swarms of dry dyes at you
And I speak to you in a tongue-tied language
Which is entrusted to other dark-coloured adults.
But when you get milk from me
I see calmly swaying
Under the skin of your temple
That silent and pale landscape of ours.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère