Uncertainty

Georgian version here.

There is inside your heart
a bitter, brutal death,
a place of deep upset
where the lyre cannot breathe.

Once a boiling fire,
now your blood is frozen.
And your eye has no tear,
your heart — no compassion.

And when asked: “What occured,
what does your heart yearn for?”
He raises his arms skyward
yet gives to men no answer.