The evening was gloomy
in the shrubs of blackberry.
Stems being thirsty,
roots in the depth missing rainy days,
withered again.
I was exhausted
looking at the dead branches and sere roses.
Plu sheet music heard in wispy air
created the place to live,
somewhere.
Maybe far from here
like heaven in blessed area.
In the depth of the soul,
where seagulls bangle slow,
and snowflakes turn into rain
I act like stormy wave
to survive
from requiem of being alive.
Maundering along the sidewalks in Fall,
searching for the place we belong,
but in vain.
The nocturne is never enough
to sound all sinful deeds we have
in hands,
in wounded hands.
Those wrinkled, shivering ones
continue playing the nocturne for humans
being sinfully dead.
Tamar Gvelesiani comes from Tbilisi, Georgia. By profession she is a doctor and art historian. Tamar has graduated from Tbilisi State Medical University, faculty of Medicine and from Ivane Javakhishvili Tbilisi State University (TSU), Faculty of Humanities, Art History and Theory (BA). Now she is a PhD student in the field of cardiac surgery at Tbilisi State University.