—Shota Rustaveli

I speak from underneath the ruins here,

From underneath the landslide I am shrieking,

As if in quicklime now I disappear

Beneath a cellar’s arches, where it’s reeking.

And in the winter, silence I will feign,

For good I’ll slam the everlasting portals,

And still they’ll recognise my tongue’s refrain,

Again they will believe, those foolish mortals.