Nothing seems to happen… at all!
Neither humiliation nor rows!
The day is tender, and the sun
Makes dizzy the rock-rose…

The fruit of our labor seems trifling,
But we’ve devoted to that labor ourselves…
Yes! Each man knits his own net.
Some spin a cocoon, some make traps…

Some set the traps – for themselves…

17.11.2OO2.

Translated from Georgian

Janri Gogeshvili

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/each-man-knits-his-own-net/