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Best Poems Written by Nika Dzamiashvili

Below are the all-time best Nika Dzamiashvili poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Nika Dzamiashvili Poem

A Warm Illusion

No matter how much you make yourself believe, 
That you have a baby, 
That your drawing for somebody is more than someone else's life, 
That your visions on the other side of the earth 
Are a reality for somebody,
That you are at least furthermore than what you create, 
That sometimes eyes closed you hear a baby crying, 
Who had been deprived of a chance by you to be born, 
Because you grew up And now lock yourself up like a monk, 
In your own city,
In your own home, 
In your own book,
In tour own self. 
You seek happiness and find tranquillity, 
you long for meat and you drink milk, 
you want honey and drink sugarless coffee, 
You want to have a wife 
And you draw the face of a weeping woman. 
Who wants sex, 
But faints at the sight of blood, 
she cuts nails on her fingers, 
Trembles and wears a diaper for the first time. 
During an excess of endorphins, When the heart tries to calm down 
And the hands are still trembling
She pours the wild berry tea for herself 
And waters the flower in the pot. 
She picks up the phone and calls him, 
In whose memory she was created, 
That is you who read these words, 
You, who imagined every word - in action, 
You who made a short film in yourself 
And you, who have the illusion 
about the thing Which is not written in this poem ... 
When your life scattered like sand in the air, 
Or when there is rain instead of romance, 
It hardens and toughens your being like wet cement, 
And then it gets cold and you have no firewood, 
To warm your hands, 
A hat and long hair cover your ears,
 Come and I will kiss you on the frozen nose. 
An hour passes, followed by a day, a week, a second, and a third ...
 And I see 
Whatever I write 
And no matter what you draw, 
And no matter what she sings 
And he ... 
If you feel that you are not a soul to somebody, 
Then you realize  it was worth dreamier husband,
 which immortalized you on the canvas 
And so your past life had little meaning!

Details | Nika Dzamiashvili Poem

Unnamed Abstract Poem

I
Which is more –
words told by the people who 
have gone to the underworld
or the number of stars in the sky?
Before the World War III, till the earth would be destroyed completely, 
will the planet, on which we can continue to live, appear?
Will people get used to the new space,
and will a new life be born with a local passport?
Will a new story be written?
Will the Earth geniuses be remembered?

II
The desert with the ocean shore 
and the breasts of young mothers full of milk.
My exhibition – 
In MoMa, at the Agora Gallery
and the Metropolitan Museum.
The wife delighted with the information aired by CNN
and one more day of a child 
spent without daddy. 

III
I go straight and to the right…
Miami Art Basel and Batumi dancing fountain.
Rustavi theatre and Dostoevsky – Notes from Underground.
Van Gogh, Nikala, Schiele and Basquiat.
I draw you 
and Andy Warhol dances on the text by Dr. Alban,
which I sing 
when you hug me. 


IV	
An abstract poem is painted 
Without brushes and colour.
And I don’t know whom I ask to,

what colour are the words – 
“I love you!..”

What colour would be the thought
that emerges in the brain for a second,
If it would sound suddenly-

“Hello! Sorry, what will happen 
here and now if we have sex?”

or what colour would be that girl, 
who needs this closeness, but she restrains herself and plays,
not to surrender to the man easily 
and to illustrate her power…

Details | Nika Dzamiashvili Poem

Psycho Jazz - Pareidolia

If I am not sick with pareidolia,
I couldn’t notice‘The Scream’ by 
Edvard Munch on my neighbour’s door,
created by the light coming from
the ground floor. 

Not even the pit on the footpath, 
where a stone was placed on a split-leaf
from one side the man’s face was screaming,
and from the other, the woman’s body
 wanted to be touched.

Sometimes,
I go to apophenia with a wavy motion.
So I don’t see the difference
between the megalodon and
an ordinary shark. 

Sometimes,
I look at a sheet of paper, a canvas, a wall,
a sidewalk, a tree…
I sing, draw, read, write
to myself…
And I feel anamorphosis coming 
into me,
without any drink or smoke,
my brain is mixed with action, music,
the movie,feelings….
I’m anole, I’m alone, I’m alone,
Psychosis.

When with the people there is warmth or nothing at all,
I want to see either everyone or no one,
Either do something,or do nothing,
sometimes I talk to shadows, sometimes-
I lose them.

Sometimes I catch thoughts
as if I am acone-shaped snail
or busy ant,
if I can’t get one on his feet,
I can be useful for them in any other way…
or to be violet or chamomile,
that knows it will be withered or
faded,
but it will fill the eyes and the heart 
of the beloved girl with delight.

My schizophrenia has several frames of 
freedom limiting,
but that’s also my drawing,
in myself,
as adissociative identity disorder 
of Billy Milligan,
and maybe I should think like Nino, Mariam, Ani, Tamar, Katie,
Natia, Tiko, Ia, Salome.
But I may stay with the same body, 
the same Nika, 
as you have known me before.

Don’t be afraid, girl,
I love you!
You will be protected by me, with me,
now and forever.
and you’ll get relief with me,
which you think to be freedom,
but it will be the beginning of those
duties, 
about the dream, this poem ends with.

Details | Nika Dzamiashvili Poem

True For People

I can record that voice,
 When the radio can’t catch a wave,
 convert it to Morse code and send it to infinity
 and somewhere on the other side of the earth,
 Someone christens this joke as some serious discovery,
 as well as -
 listening to white noise,
 The prophecy of Nostradamus,
 and Ouija board game,
 that caused the death of several people,
 All three are promoted businesses,
 which affects the human psyche
 - in the form of his own pareidolia
 and deceives us in its existence,
 where Vanga can't even come close to knocking on that door,
 from which the voice of the spirits of those dead recognizable faces,
are heard,
 and to understand their interests
 we – living beings have to pay money,
 thus making it difficult for us -
 to help ourselves in self-development,
 and not to feed greedy governments
 which seem we had to change 
like underwear and socks,
 but also on different continents,
 in different countries,
 in particular, to bestow to feed those hungry people,
 who might die so
 that could not read this poem ...

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T R U S T

The blind man visited you
With the help of his stick…

You let him in.

When he left you found out that
Your wallet has gone…

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An Unnamed Poem For Love

I do not know the art of flirting, 
nor have I ever tempted an unripe flower, that is why 
I am alone,
But no one can reach even the grain
of my mad love, which is greater than any human being,
free, like the grass grown on its own, 
which oscillates in the wind and is as unknown 
as the Bile for the inanimate person…
And, when I say that she not only settled in my heart,
but she is beating inside me,
 means that I love her much more,
than a person, in particular 
can love you!...

Details | Nika Dzamiashvili Poem

I Love You

After wandering around all alone,
I went back home.

I caught a sight of your picture

And my empty room
Got warmer.

Details | Nika Dzamiashvili Poem

An Unnamed Poem

Let’s admit
that not every word has a synonym,
but any action may have several explanations.

Humans,
we make choices,
to the extent our brain is developed
and sometimes we knock our heads against the paradox.

But maybe
out of three different situations,
we are capable of drawing a general conclusion,
grasp one, even three, or much more different meanings,
Or maybe someone else will decide our fate for us.

But maybe none of these turns out to be true,
and is as pointless as
time wasted reading this verse.