Saperavi
Alcol: 14,5%
A Poem’s Pain I am back in my village, a child in fever. The women sing sweetly of roses and violets to appease the measles. Mother’s tears make the chords ring. My sisters and brothers stand over me. They can’t hide their joy now that I’m free. Mother promises treats and presents. They have stanched my pain, these measly kings. A bushel of apples stands in the corner. The neighbours keep bringing more: cherries, sour and sweet, berries, beets frozen sugar twisted into rings. My head is wrapped in cornhusks. I bathe in the rose water’s rain. Is it my blanket or are those gentle coverings angel’s wings? The wind from the plains battles with the enflamed peach trees. Those branches blessed the measles and pardoned me. If my family would only sing the lullaby of childhood again to me, I would plant the knife into my heart, and endure this agony. Dear reader, if you want to know me, listen to my poems. I no longer hear their melody. You can have these words, if you wait. Suddenly, pain strikes me. The words inside me sing. Titsian Tabidze (21 March 1895 - 16 December 1937)
VITE DI VINO 