Poems

Vainakhs

On the Lord’s window the sun drew a white cameo
In Ichkeria perhaps it is a white night ...
It is a white night and Chechen eagles are not sleeping
How can they sleep?
It is snowing and the landscape – a disused vineyard - is paling,
It is snowing and the Vainakhs are guarding the mountain peaks,
And if tonight the lightning illuminates the sky of Grozny,
How can old lions – the Caucasians - be quiet?
Alas, where are the invincible, wilful horse riders?
If only I could, I would rouse up Georgia.
Oh, I would muster an army in the Iveri meadows,
What is life if not the urge to enjoin the enemy in the contest?
What is death when the heart is filling with rage?
What is life if the enemy stripped us of honour?
If only I could I would revive Georgia,
I would surprise it with Iberian courage,
I would let the mother bells thunder in their Kartlian-Kakhetian
belfries,
And would follow Prince Cholokashvili to join up with the Vainakhs!
I would break and smash the chests of evil souls,
I would protect the beautiful daughters of the Chechens,
I would scatter the ice rocks over roses and violets,
I would breathe soul into my frozen Caucasians.
And sword-wounded, I would stir up myself with rage,
I would spill myself like sunrays over the white peaks,
I would force the avengers to dance on the tips of swords
And I would confound the dirty intentions of Judas traitors.
Uninhibited, I would wreak havoc on the Mongols and the Kalmyks,
I would dress up the Russian generals in their frockcoats and felt
valinkis[1]
And I would send their Galinkas[2] back to cold “Rasia”[3]
So that they never could come back to Kavkasia[4],
Then, in the Pankisi Gorge, I would rest under the Kisty’s[5] roof,
I would carry off the Russian boot to find its rest away from Georgia,
I would rest.
It is snowing unbearably; the sun drew a white cameo
The night is white, unbearably white,
In Ichkeria, perhaps, it snows over Chechen eagles,
How can I sleep!