I dream of hunchbacked Tiflis,
Where a Sazandar's groan resounds
The people cluster on the bridge,
The crowd carpets the whole capital,
While below, the Kuramurmurs.
Above the Kura are dukhans
Where there is wine and good pilaf,
A ruddy dukhanshchik
Gives glasses to the guests,
He is ready to serve you.
The thick Cahetian wine
In the cellar is ready to drink --
There in the coolness, in peace,
You drink your fill, drink in pairs:
Don't drink alone.
In the smallest dukhan,
If you ask for Teliani,
You will find a friend.
Tiflis will be swimming in a fog,
Your head will be swimming at the inn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem