შირაქის ველზე მივდივარ [Shirakis Velze Mivdivar]
(Traveling the Shiraki Plain)

Georgian, Tusheti

shirakis velze mivdivar,
uk’an mabrunebs kario.
ts’in shemeqara pepela,
ts’itlad uchanda mkharivo
saqvarlis k’abas vamsgavse (da)
ghmerto, damts’ere jvario.

(mtas) chvens ikit didi velia,
ia da vardi penia
shiga zis kali lamazi
tavis tmisagan bnelia
(tavs) kals savartskheli rad unda (da)
dalalai okros peria

movedi qels mogekhvio,
vardsa ushlelsa iasa
sabnisa ts’veri avsts’ io,
(t’uchze) pirsa gak’otso mdzinarsa
arts ara shen dagishavdes (da)
arts me davrchebi ziansa
I am traveling in the Shiraki Plain.
The wind tells me to turn back.
I encounter a butterfly,
The red of whose wings
Resembles my beloved's dress.
God, You marked me with the sign of the Cross.

Across the way there is a big valley,
Full of violets and roses.
There sits a beautiful woman,
Gracefully bowing her head.
What does she need a comb for?
Her braid is golden.

I would come to embrace you,
my rose-bud, my violet.
I would lift the corner of your blanket,
And carefully watch you sleep.
I would keep you from shame
And protect you from harm.