besik xaranauli

beboCemis gardacvaleba

leTa, daviwyebis mdinare

roca beboCemi leTas gadadioda,

roca jer kidev

ar Seedga fexi mdinareSi,

roca jer kidev ar iyo gons mosuli, radganac wylispiras

nariys wamosdo

kabis kalTa da waborZikda,

magram Zveli CveulebiT,

romelic imas sicocxleSi mudam gamarTuls atarebda

Tavi Seimagra

gasworda da

ise Sedga fexi mdinareSi.

wyali grili iyo, Txeli iyo wyali.

gaRma napirze ki tye iwyeboda

da yvelaferi

ise nacnobi iyo misTvis,

rom giafiqra:

iors xom ar mivtopavo,

Zroxis saZebnelad xom ar mivdivaro

wyalgaRma tyeSi.

mas Cemsken ar gamouxedavs,

me Tvalebi dabinduli mqonda

da ver davinaxe,

rogor gavida gaRma napirs

da burusma rogor dafara.

im qveyanaSi

roca beboCemi saiqioSi Cavida,

mas miegebnen naTesavi sulebi

movidnen tyviiT dakodilni,

saxadiT mkvdarni

daxocilebi vin RalatiT

da vin kidev siyvarulis sawamlaviTa.

marto qvrivi nato ar mosula

beboCemis Sesagebeblad,

radganac axlac,

rogorc sicocxleSi,

ar ecala zeimebisTvis,

radganac axlac,

rogorc sicocxleSi,

tyeSi iyo Turme wasuli

da Tavisi oblebisTvis

fiCxs agrovebda.

Besik Kharanauli

Death of My Grandmother

Lethe, The River of Forgetfulness

When my grandmother was crossing the Lethe,

When she hadn’t yet stepped into the river

And hadn’t yet regained consciousness

as she had lost her footing, from washed ashore driftwood

hooked on the hem of her skirt

by force of her old habit

which made her walk straight

she strengthened herself, drew herself up

and thus stepped into the river.

The water was cool, the water was soft

The forest was stretched along the river bank

And everything was so familiar to her

That she started to think:

Am I crossing the Iori River

Am I still going to look for my lost cow

In the forest across the river?

She has not even glanced at me

My eyes all darkened in tears

I am unable to see,

Her crossing to the other shore,


Vanishing into the mist.


When my Grandmother arrived in the afterlife

She was met by kindred spirits:

Those who had died either by a bullet,

Or passed away by black death,

Deceased either by betrayal

Or even poisoned by love

Only Nato the widow has not come

To meet my grandma,

Because even now she seemed too busy

Even here to join in the feast

As in her own life -

Even here

She could be found in the forest

Collecting brushwood

For her orphans.