Early evening when dusk was falling,
my mother turned with fine fingers
through the pages of the black book
and she looked pretty and womanly
while she took our cares to the almighty Lord
and when I looked though closed eyes
it was as if a big shadow
was making the night still darker
where it was falling over the house and the whole yard,
where God was keeping watch in the night.
Early morning when it was still twilight,
I was already up, was trying to find my way
through the field near to the hillock,
to follow the white cat
to where she was hiding her new children
but could then find no sign
of God’s presence
with only the weavers, sparrows and doves
that were singing their songs of joy,
before the sun white-hot blinded me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem