REFLECTIONS: Those Who Pass
Slowly, slowly they pass by
Those who breastfed and put us to bed
who worked hard to send us
to schools and colleges
those who scolded and punished us
who revered and envied us,
hugged and desired us,
those who longed for our death,
one by one, slowly, slowly.
A part of us too passes with them,
a small part, a breath, some blood,
a bit of pollen.
All that we climbed up we climb down
All that we climb down we walk
All that walk fall, like leaves,
the greener side down,
clung to earth.
A breeze blows above us
The memories of those who passed
envelope us with the odours of
pepper, garlic, wild jasmine.
Slowly, we come alive, like some statues
coming alive at midnight,
loiter along the ancient times
and recall that old life, line by line,
through measured verses.
The river goes on singing,
the primal song of those who do not die
It cuts across the banks, like time
that has no borders, bodiless,
Man and Woman (Ali and Nino) -- Tamara Kvesitadze