Every time he has to leave his home country, it feels like going to war: he writes poems as if they were letters sent home from the front line. He seems to be talking to his mum, brothers and sisters, wife and kids. The charge of his poems encompasses his adventures and experiences. Even at the calmest moments his poetry sounds as if propelled by the fair winds.

Noisy megapolises, their wan and unreasonable moodiness, alien languages among the neon lights, nostalgia for the native alphabet which hurts like a bullet wedged in the old wound – such is Soso Meshveliani’s poetry, his mournful travel song.