![](https://tbilisilitfest.ge/images/df5cdded1f3d59a2a50c282bb94df879Kevanishvili.jpg)
Georgian poet.
Eka Kevanishvili is a journalist with 16 years of work experience. Last 7 years Eka Kevanishvili works as a reporter for radio free Europe/ radio Liberty, Tbilisi bureau. She also worked as an investigative reporter in different Georgian newspapers - “Rezonansi”, “The New Version”. Radio “Green Wave”.
Eka Kevanishvili is an author of three poetic books published in 2006, 2010 and 2013. She is also the author of the book of essays and literary profiles about contemporary Georgian writers. She is the winner of Georgian main literary award “Saba” - for the best poetry book of 2013.Since 1998, Eka Kevanishvilis works are published in Georgian literary magazines:
“Arili”, “Akhali Saunje”, “Literaturuli Palitra”, “Literaturuli Gazeti” and others. Her poems are translated into English, Lithuanian and Russian languages.
Leaving
On tiptoe.
As snow in February will cross the windy season.
Dirty with mud,
the Surb-Sarkys’ wind will smash against the foothills
as the last passenger at a platform,
her handkerchief fluttering,
lets the late train pass,
pass like blood passes from the single artery you cut the
night before,
slowly. like a trembling drunk who is the last one
to leave a wake where the table is already half cleared.
And a guest sends useless praises to the exhausted
housewife.
That’s how it goes. It melts away
like a silver ring on a finger of an elderly person.
A breast on the body flies away
like a dog before its death,
gives way to another dog, gives up the yard it has been
guarding
then staggers along the road,
feeling sad for its lost masters.
Carefully, holding her breath,
like a mother - she closes the door of her baby’s room
when she is sleeping.
Like a thief, with a pocket
full of somebody’s money-somebody’s
future sorrow, she runs away silently out of town.
So shamelessly, to shoot the hearts of others.
My heart faints.
Until I let go-with the force of a witch’s spell,
I slip the soft-winged shoes you offered on him,
with the implication that they will
return tomorrow, they know the way.
To come back. To return.
translated from Georgian by Tim Kercher