David Guramishvili Poems >>
Man

                  - 1 -
The mortal flesh must rot
In a life-forgotten spot.
The soul in freedom flies,
Unbodied in the skies.
                - 2 -
The flesh by the fleeting world
Beneath time's feet is hurled,
Gradations of decay
To be kneaded into clay.
The flesh is withered grass,
A rancid stinking mass.
The soul, wrought in the dark,
Is a bright life-kindling spark,
That flies on wings of might -
A never-quenching light.
                - 3 -
Denied of clothes and food
The flesh by death's subdued.
Thus flesh more flesh doth crave
To feed the greedy grave.
The soul no matter needs,
On love and freedom feeds.
                - 4 -
To feed the flesh you dine
On choicest meats and wine.
You grudge not cost or care
Rich tables to prepare;
Yet you pity not your soul,
Nor strive to make it whole,
But leave it starved and cold
In a narrow, empty mould.
The flesh you clothe with skill,
With gold the pockets fill,
But keep the spirit bare
With not a rag to wear.
Your flesh smells sweet and fine
Like fragrant muscadine;
Your soul like burnt straw stinks,
To infernal darkness sinks;
At last it perishes
And for ever vanishes.