We like this couple.
They kiss and tenderly embrace each other,
but we are very hungry.

Eternity ends for us when our time runs out,
when love dies with us.
We either turn to soil or to ashes,
yet somewhere, we will still exist
we cannot erase our trace.

Wife: Do you think the new purchase brings us closer?
Husband: Brings us closer?
Wife: Yes, that’s what I think the pleasure caused by buying something new.
Husband: Yeah, that’s true.
Wife: You’re a tight-lipped leech.
Husband: Don’t even heat it up.
Wife: Sometimes, you seem very beautiful to me.
Husband: Hahaha.
Wife: I miss the snow. Take me to Bakuriani.
Husband: Let’s go next year.
Wife: I’d go to the village, but nothing can warm up the cold rooms.
Husband: And the rats.
Wife: Hahaha.

We are most stripped bare
when we await catharsis.
Our hands weaken,
and our faces grow serene.
We are like the fragrant, blossoming flowers of spring
that soon wither,
yet their bulbs emerge again
to bloom anew in another spring's flowers.

You closed the black doors,
like a sealed temple
if such a thing exists.
You made your dwelling in various dark hearts,
slipped into a locked latch.
Dry leaves rustle under your feet in the silence of the night,
and like a stray dog,
you don’t know in whose house you’ll awaken.

Warm winter climate change.
This year, I couldn’t go to the resort.
I feel miserable because of it
I miss the snow so much.
I would probably take a lot of pictures,
But I made a promise to myself: next year, I’ll go.
In my city, water freezes, but, sadly, there’s no snow.

By the roadside stands a house that is mine,
In the yard, a mulberry tree,
Now cut down,
Because flies swarmed around it.

The scent of fig and walnut trees,
And many others
Some withered,
Some flowing with the river of life.

A house that waits for me,
Closed and locked,
In the cellar, perhaps,
Rats are hiding.