Vazha Pshavela – A Song
Once there bloomed upon a meadow
Roses, violets, flow’rs of grace.
The gods from urns poured nectared beauty
On the meadow’s up-turned face.
Hanging vines and branches wove
Canopies of gold and shade
Through which the sky serenely peeped
And gentle breezes humming strayed.
The bulbul sang of only love;
Nature listened in delight —
I felt joy rise in my breast;
Thrilled at the beauty of the sight.
Captivated by the place
The morrow found me there again…
But alas! the scene was changed
And horror petrified my brain.
The violets and roses were
Lovely; though the bulbul’s song
Was as musical and sweet,
Yet my heart in pain was wrung!
Stunned, I saw a sight that made me
Wish my seeing eyes were blind…
Stagnant vapours and black snakes
About the flower stems were twined.