http://slow.writerscafe.org/Mari_Chubinidze The original writings of author Mari en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776110042 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 At the end of the daythe fishermen light a fire,Together they share their catch,They drink beer around the flames.A warm breeze drifts by.They thank Godfor what they havelittle they possess.They recall the pastand touch the green grass.Drunk, they listen to music:“Fishe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/3128925/ Invisible threads bind us together,and you feel so close to methat often I think I would kneel before you,simply because I am sapiosexualand I need your mind http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/3127656/ And when you hit your painful foot against a stone and blood comes out,No matter how surprising it is, it happens like that...One collision may be followed by another,And even snakes may not leave our homes,In the heat I turn on the conditioner,Like a corpse in the refrigerator I feel,Simply spiritu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2956735/ The car windows lie back into the rain,yet the rain keeps soaking them again.This processand the squeaking of the windshield wipersis my favorite.In these moments,I dream of heavier rain,of a longer traffic jamso I wouldn’t be able to go back home http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2947997/ I remember those nights when my mother read me fairy tales,I would fall asleep in clean white sheets,dreaming dreamsoutside, the wind swayed the branches.Back then, nothing felt as fairy-tale-likeas the morningthat began with pearl-coloredmilk. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2945204/ Catherine, from Jules and Jim,arranges suicide.I watch it, like an actafter a light smokeshe isn’t vulgar,she keeps the balance.It’s a classic film.Rats in the garbage.My thoughts arrange the evaporation of the brainafter drinking vodka.If the sun rises,I’ll get a tan. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2940426/ The maddest windTangles your hair,Tears fall from your eyesIt’s not crying, just an allergy to the weather.The colors are dark,Like in fairy tales,Rotting wooden housesBuried deep in the forest.Thoughts are swirlingWith fleeting impressions. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2933413/ We are most stripped barewhen we await catharsis.Our hands weaken,and our faces grow serene.We are like the fragrant, blossoming flowers of springthat soon wither,yet their bulbs emerge againto bloom anew in another spring's flowers. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2930526/ You closed the black doors,like a sealed templeif such a thing exists.You made your dwelling in various dark hearts,slipped into a locked latch.Dry leaves rustle under your feet in the silence of the night,and like a stray dog,you don’t know in whose house you’ll awaken. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2929263/ The caricatures of our soul,Trapped within white walls,Sinking into the slumber of morning.Trees, of which we are the mothers,Or perhaps wild nature’s offspring.When we place our hands on the table,Awaiting food,We see our grown children through the window.The tip of the pen le.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2924080/ Often we yearn to leave the city's pavements behind,To go where calm is deeper,Where we will be loved more.We will delight in the metaphors of fallen leaves,Feel our bodies warmer,For the New Year, we'll take out delicate champagne glasses,And say that the pain the old year left us means nothing. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2923718/ Goats fallen into the ravineTheir blood on the rocks,Every moment is dangerous,A herald of death,A goat lying downTo rest on the rocky hill,Hidden from land predators. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2922898/ The wind flutters your black cloak,You smoke a cigaretteWith a hand frozen from the cold,The red fragments of your heartAre piled beneath your feet,You’re going nowhereBecause of your love’s hold. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2921486/ Fly away black bird,perhaps you’ll encounter a carcassor someone kindwill offer it to you.You’ll hide in the dry bushes with food,Your black feathers will flutter in the wind,satisfied and full,your bodywill heavily descend again to the ground. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2919502/ I was simply singing,watching red poppiesin the field,thinking of nothing,just rememberingthe sea of my childhood,as Banville doesin his book.How pleasant it is,even in winter,to hear the murmur of the sea. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2919478/ Somewhere far away meadows, a small spring, the sound of a lyre, smiling people.In cornfields, peasants working.I searched for a medicinal herb. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2918903/ We brought saplings of trees,radiant peach, apple.We nurtured them, they bore divine fruit.I wanted to export them, but in vain,says the farmer from Gori to the journalists.I cut them all down, cut them down to save my time and nerves.I cried,and the trees shed tears as well.I destroyed the fruit of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2912893/ You talk to everyone, everyone in your heart,But you’re not a god,You’re just a woman sitting in a subway car, talking to herself.You talk to Dionysus, asking him for a drink.You go to the tobacco field, smoking a hookah there,Because you like the smell of tobacco leaves.You .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2911736/ I want to live in a house where silence reigns, to hear the echo of sounds drifting in from the yard. To live like the beautiful tales written on the pages of a book,to love like Juliet,and to be able to die with her.He will come in the evening, open the door,we'll talk simply.Our desires .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2910958/ Living in the suburbs has a special charm, especially if you live in one of the quarters of Tbilisi's Varketili district, where the sea is also nearby: tall buildings, scorching heat, and mulberry trees in the yard, whose pungent smell reaches your nostrils.The noise of the neighborhood, gathering.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2910577/ Madness, like a human's mark,It claims that everything is fine,It plays, as for it, God has changed,Faith is either exalted or diminished.Signs are everywhere,It has become the center of the universe,It has absorbed every book,This treacherous ailmentHas added uncontrollable power... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2910352/ The wind stirs my black curtain.I hear the sound of branches,The wind sweeps the dry grass on the fields,Like waves on the sea.Cold hearts,Like the black curtain.If you go to heaven without me,Or even to hell,My heart will fall asleep.Love is as darkAs a moonless nightIn an i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2909531/ I place my slippers by the bed,Hoping I’ll wake up to find them where I left them,I do this over and over, feeling the same.Habits, feelings are oursOur manners when we open a beer can or simply glance at something, someone.No one can change our behaviors,Though we might imit.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2909120/ Red roses planted in a filthy ravine,For the bliss of passersby.Brought there by witches,Visually stunning,Left at the mercy of rain,Blooming red.The wise will say it is in honor of the mortals,While the lowly will glance with irony,Their eyes deceitful.Just as Venus embodies per.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2908650/ I think I'll go somewhere,In Alaska's cold I'll settle alone.I pondered on the fallen angel.No matter how dark my thoughts are on the essence of the universe,I love the piercing Cold so much.Even God grows evil.I pondered on the fallen angel.Poetry is not prose!I'll s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2908483/ Newton was the name of the garden where I sat,My knees were tired,My hands rested on my tired knees.After much walking, I wandered into this quiet garden.I can think of nothing but fatigue,With two kilometers left to reach home.A breeze blows,I almost want to lie beneath the trees and sleep,Even if .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2908184/ I want to listen to the playlist I used to play before, when I would carelessly throw thousands of music tracks into love, connecting with another world, traveling through it, finding the people I had lost, and telling them what I couldn’t say back then.I would reread Mauriac, Hesse, a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2907665/ My mind is like an overgrown field, mixed with thorns and weeds.Like a wandering dervish, but not at peace.I think I’ll smoke a cigarette on the veranda,with coffee.Or maybe I’ll take a long walk,to open a door for these stifling thoughts. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2907595/ In the poem, I spoke of:I wanted to go to Japan,But I lost my wallet.In the homeland of "Thousand Cranes,"My first touchWith that remarkableBook, I felt.I wanted to go to Japan,To see the rustling of kimonos.But I lost my wallet.I was going in the spring, toFeel the sc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2907461/ One winter, the city was covered with snow,In a distant hollow, in a black pit,Snow lay thick, appearing dark,Children interrupted the city's silence,Evening was upon usAs I quietly walked the street with slow steps, the snow stood silent,Only the crunch of my shoesAnd the distant voic.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2906874/ I left the house in no mood for anything,I left my cigarette at home,I wanted to smoke.I wandered down the road to the church,For no reason, I just love the scent of candles.There was a match on the wooden table; I took itAnd went outside�"A woman shouted at me, "Thief."I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2906729/ Silence deepens within me like a black rock,when scientists discovered that even plants speak in their own language.My silence remains silent, like a thorned rose untouched by anyone.Only I know the depths of that rock, the breath of the rose’s silence.And my black heart,my breat.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2906343/ It's autumn, snakes crawl into unreachable places to hibernate.I've laid out warm blankets.In villages, cornfields are being stored,and cows are giving less milk.The rains have become more prolonged, mixed with mist,colder compared to summer.The walls are no longer as warm.I feel an at.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2905396/ Sometimes I feel like I accumulated many sins in a past life.After reincarnation, they all weigh down on my body together.Or perhaps my father committed all the sins for me.I woke up from a heavy dream again.The book my father was reading at the end of his life, One Thousand and One Nights, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2904451/ The eyes with which you gaze at the world are blue,Like Kidman’s glance in the film 'Cold Mountain'.Aggressively tinged with sorrow, I feel powerless before them.Oh, dear, once you visited me in a dream,The next day, you smiled at me.It’s simply a platonic infatuation,For who.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2903949/ One day when I left the house, I wandered through the streets of Station Square. I was at the casino, Not to gamble, but for the spectacle. I was walking quickly back home when the only valuable thing I had, A Canon camera, fell onto the curb. But I returned home calmly, That da.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2903545/ We often meet people for a short time, They prepare Indian dishes for us Without bread, with rice. When you're hungry, the impression of waiting intensifies, and you enjoy it doubly. You look at cheerful faces, and you become happy. It's enough to remember their Student years, Where not from a deep .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2902752/ I got cold This cold as always Caused sleep paralysis, Being in complete darkness. I didn't want to fall asleep But, I fell asleep. Today I was thinking As on other days About you. Thinking of you causes white pain, I would probably compare myself to Orpheus Who sings to Eurydice.I would.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2901332/ At work, I loved to read,I had a small salary,But I had the chanceTo read books.I found my inspirationIn William Blake and his painting of Death on a Pale HorseTime has passed, but my heart has not grown cold toward them.Now I’m reading J. M. Coetzee,Smoking more cigarettes,E.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2901186/ Abandoned pastures, Houses, yard spaces Where long grass has sprouted - Trees with dried branches, Owners of space: The dead, the displaced, Others Who decided to close their doors Forever.Like snails Who’ve grown new homes onto their bodies.Glass of broken windo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2900987/ Spring seems to have died,I’m inhaling the scent of rotten lilacs.I taste the chocolate you brought me...Drunk, I smoke a cigarette,but I can’t feel it.I drag my feet lightly on the road, slamming the rough soles of cowboy boots.I cry,I want something that doesn’t exist in nature,s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2900938/ Cows that get lost without a trace In dense forests, Among sprawling leaves, between green trees, Where there seems to be no end, and if it ends, another identical forest begins... The fruitless search has its own result �" An attempt. I don't know these feelings, for I haven't lost .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Mari_Chubinidze/2900749/