The Baby’s Cry Squeezes Juice Out Of Grapes Poem by Janri Gogeshvili

A hut floated on the waves,
A sun-colored crib
Stood at the window.
The hut was smoke-grey,
The window – narrow.
A distant noise was heard,
Distant moans and wails.
The hut floated on the waves.
Peacefully the baby slept,
With bitter tears, the sky wept…

Then the little one felt danger,
Cried out and called his mum,
But she was swimming in blood…
The babe’s cry was heard
Throughout the world,
It turned into a sacred herald…
And at the crumbling hillock,
The robber soundlessly shrieked…

He listened to the whining,
He left his machine-gun,
Stared at the hut
With a heavy heart.
The babe’s cry rang in his ears…
Like a ghost, he made for the river…

He himself was brought up
In such an old hut,
And he remembered the crib,
The sound of rocking.
Once he, too, was sheltered
By his mother’s veil…
Then the ill fate sent him outdoors
Without any pity, without remorse…

And now, as if to save
That baby’s wail,
His heart leapt up to the sky.
Dreams hoisted the sail,
His heart craved for flight,
And he, the slayer,
Turned into a savior…

The baby’s wails
Squeeze juice from the grapes,
And then, peace reigns
In our hearts and souls…
The baby’s cry
Is a herald of God,
Stars have learned about it
Long ago…

10.05.2006

Translated from Georgian