Bich’o Ikneb P’ap’a Iqo Sheni
(scroll down for English translation)
Titkos gulshi amipetkda mekhi
Ts’arbi shehk’ar mogeghrubla sakhe
/Belt’ta shoris rotsa qamirs t’ekhdi
K’atsis chonchkhi da bork’ili nakhe/
Sad shests’qdeba sitsotskhlis gza grdzeli
Sadaursa, sad ts’aiqvan bedo
/Bich’o ikneb p’ap’a iqo sheni
Visats pekhze eg bork’ili edo/
Bich’o ikneb p’ap’a iqo sheni
Sheebrdzola mepis adat-ts’esebs
/Chamohp’arses glekhk’atss tsali ts’veri
Shebork’ili tsimbirs gaamts’eses/
Ikneb gulshi ver dapara okhvra
Aujanqda bat’ons namus-mokhdils
/ Da mit’omats daurchines okhrad
Gutneuli da chaluri kokhi/
Qazakhetshi sir-dariis akhlos
Shejach’vuli moiqvanes albat
/Bardauk’vrel velebsa da akhos
Glekhi k’atsi gakhedavda kharbad/
Gakhedavda qamirs, tsvarshi nabans
Inat’rebda gamok’vetil sakhniss
/Da qevar khars-nishasa da ts’ablas
Ts’in garek’il shvilishvilis sakhrit./
Magram, vaglakh, nat’vras hgavda zghap’ars
Qamirebze daghlilivit mits’va
/Shebork’ili, shejach’vuli, p’ap’a
Miibares qazakhetis mits’am/
Tsremlit arvin daunama k’alta
Vegharts gakhda ts’qvili santlis ghirsits
/Varsk’vlavebmats gaunates tavtan
Da sudarad gadepara nisli/
Sadaursa sad ts’aiqvan bedo
Sitsotskhlis gzas sad ar gaduk’et’av
/Saplavshiats bork’ilebi edo
Mk’vdari sadgha ts’avidoda net’av?!/
Dastskhe bich’o, mag t’rakt’oris grials
Belt’i belt’ze miats’vine mardad
/Dastskhe bich’o, mag t’rakt’oris grials
Sakartvelos mta da barits usmens
Translation:
Could Be He Was Your Grandfather
It is as if thunder had exploded in my heart
Your brows furrowed and your face clouded over
As you were breaking the virgin clods of earth
And saw a man’s skeleton in shackles
Where does the long road of life begin?
Fate, where are you taking us?
Boy, it could be that he was your grandfather
On whose feet lay those shackles
Boy, it could be that he was your grandfather
Who fought against the King’s customs and orders
They shaved off the peasant man’s moustache
Put him in chains and exiled him to Siberia
Maybe he couldn’t hide his moaning
And revolted against the Lord’s spoiled conscience
Which is why
They destroyed his house
They took him to Kazakhstan
Near Sirdaria, perhaps chained
The peasant man looked out fervidly
He looked out at the dewy new soil
Wishing for his destroyed house
Hoping that Nisha and Tsabla
Were let out in front of his grandchild’s house
But alas, his wishes were dreams
He lay down on the soil
Chained and shackled grandpa
Buried in Kazakhstan’s earth
There was no one to bathe him in tears
Nor was there anyone to light a worthy candle
His eyes shined like stars
As a shroud of fog covered him
Fate, where are you taking us?
Where do you not close life’s door?
Even in the grave he lay in shackles
Where could he go, I wonder?
Let’s go boy, drive that rumbling tractor
Quickly from one clod of earth to another
Let’s go boy, drive that rumbling tractor
Georgia’s mountains and valleys are listening
Marta Tsalughelashvili