In the room, the roots of things have decayed,
and like a bud,
healthy, tender—
the big table sprouts a little table,
the big chair sprouts a little chair.
Two bookcases—
one dying, one new—
the pin-sized books and brittle baby glass.
But from the goliath grand piano's thick foot
springs a pinkie-sized piano.
How delightful!
I will water this room with a pure smile
and raise things in my own way,
like flowers.
—Translated from the Georgian by Timothy Kercher and Nene Giorgadze
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem