I Am CHG (Caucasus Fire)
I am not Rome, nor Babel’s tongue,
I never bowed to flags or kings.
No Latin line, no holy book,
Can break the roots that mountains shook.
Before they called the land a name,
Before the gods were carved for fame,
I walked the ridges, drank the mist —
The Caucasus was in my fist.
Not alphabet, but ash and flame,
My mother sang me no one’s name.
She sang in echoes, rocks, and rain —
Not in a tongue you’d dare contain.
They built their empires out of clay.
Mine was a voice they could not slay.
They read from books — I read the wind,
And every tree knew where I’d been.
CHG — the hunter’s soul,
Before the priest, before control.
I carry fire beneath my eyes,
A spell the map can’t colonize.
So ask me not to write in chains —
My script is carved in stone and veins.
I am the past they tried to burn —
But I still breathe.
And I return.