Purple,

Red,

yellow,

green, golden

if he asked for colours,

if he went begging  from one tube station to another.  ( play of words- itkhovdes- asking; matkhovrobde- begging)

( from my old poem)

(to  Zaza who can see

And to all blind people)

White- this is more sound- probably flute,

It is collapsed, careful, it is steep, you may swing

-the sounds of frost pierces us-

Not the sparrows but they(sounds) swing the colourful parrots

The ice perch-

Twenty cats of my neighbour- the whole orchestra

Miaows – and this is already yellow, the moon is full

With our electric flowers- the lights in the houses

How the dawn breaks

The sky was smeared in cherry mousse

Black- not a single sound is heard

We sleep or we die,

The floor creaks carefully ( quietly)

It seems it has become grey,

Blue- the wave on the hot feet,

The breathing has calmed down,

And the wind has hidden in its robe the wing of dust and ashes.

The red- lava and one hundred volts, French horns,

Trombones, tubas,

The orchestra plays them all together,

Your fingers near my stomach-green,

And as for blue-

Before the dawn breaks in gold let’s manage to kiss each other…

You ask me- what is better: to get blind or

Or deaf.

I ask you it is better to get blind or better to get

Deaf.

You answer me: your thousand colour lakes have dried out,

I answer you: your thousand colour fields have got dried,

And then the glance has  flashed (gadabrialda)

It is my fault( bralia) this braille

It is your fault ( brali)