As a child I existed in just these two shapes:
Outside – the round yard of the children’s playground,
Inside – the high-windowed loggia’s rectangle.
Anything else was like a pitch-dark tunnel . . .
When I entered the loggia
A thousand drawers would open all at once:
Drawers with medicine, linen, jewellery, sealed papers,
And mischievous smells would waft out of them.
But in the morning, in the playground’s roundness
A whirlpool of evergreen bushes foamed
And down the child’s slide, with shrieks of joy,
Mingling with the children, angels rushed.
About this poem
This poem, representing Georgia, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.