by Pavel Chichikov
The church in Tbilisi, where wedding chants
Billowed aloft like the bride's white gown
The Kura, that runs beneath the town, was the sleeve
Of a fighter whose arm is severed –
The white bride marries the mutilated
And this is the fate of the generations
Of Church and State
I know a grey hill in Christian Meskhetia
The rubble of Christ, the fallen tower, stamped by the hooves
Of the Bull of Persia –
God is in ruins, and yet He rises –
Christ wine runs, the river of Eden
From which four rivers of paradise flow:
Joy and sadness, love and tranquility
We will travel on foot to the steepest mountains
Not by wheel or horse's hoof
Where spinning snow drops altar cloths
Hides the chamois' silver chalice –
See how curving horns make cups
Around the heads of sacred sheep
See how they dwindle when hunters search
Higher than hatred, bullets and venom –
What church is greater, colder and higher
Than all the slopes of the virgin Kavkas?
You will dress in robes of priestly chamois
Bear the bread to His untamed sheep
The heat of His loaf will melt His snow
And four rivers run to water His heaven
