In the midlands of Kwazulu-Natal
the grass roofed Zulu huts stand white
just where the meadows at the Drakensberg Mountains do fall
so as if they are present right across the landscape
with farming goats grazing everywhere,
you boys looking after the cattle,
this small world does remain
as it had been through the ages
and in the distance there is a waterfall
that like from the beginning
does splash down the mountainside
while spiral smoke clouds rise into the sky
while people do dance and sing around the fires
that the ancestor spirits will bring good harvests.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem