From the Cycle ONCE

Written by: Mariam Tsiklauri

if I believe once
that all your beauty
is a charm of the gloom
reigning around you,
what would I do, then?

The house that I had once
under a table, was larger,
and warmer, and cosier;
And I could travel,
with that wooden horse,
much faster,
much safer.

The brilliance of a big light
is often not so dazzling
as then, in the pitch darkness,
when one’s eyes open.

Among all bad times
the worst is mine.
But I do love it
because I know:
We met this single time.
And also I know 
that once I’ll miss it, oh, so dearly!

It was as easy, for my granny,
to pick wild white roses
as stars among the thorns of night.
However, once
she scratched her hand on Death and, after that,
she left her old bijouterie to me:
A dry bunch of violets put in a book,
and a white collar
knitted by herself.

Once I beseeched one saint
to help me in the trouble,
and he did.
I thought: O Lord,
how pitiful I am
if he himself had already 
perceived all.