Listen to its song
Listen to the deep pulse of Africa
Beating in the mist of forgotten villages
See the tired moon comes down to my bed on the slack sea
5. It is the hour of stars, of night that dreams
Leaning upon this hill of clouds, wrapped in its long milky cloth
Woman, light the clear oil lamp, where the ancestors gathered
The feet of the dancers grow heavy, and heavy the voice of the answering choirs
What do they say so secretly to the stars?
10. When the heat of the day is silenced
Now the sun is dead, let the melting mountain go
You my night, yes my night!
Early to bed early to rise
Live before I go down, into the high profundities of sleep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem