There is nothing more beautiful
than an African setting sun.
Late afternoons are definitely different
than the rest of the day
when the sun paints with her brush
the most brilliant colours of burnt orange,
bright gold and flaming red.
It seems as if she is enjoying herself,
she is playing, winking and frolicking
as she sets over the peaks of the Maluti Mountains
and it's as if the clouds are jealous
and they want to hide her brilliant colours
but she dips, are rampant
as if she is pulled up and down
by a fishing rod
but it's only your imagination
playing tricks with your mind as she sets
and you think that she is alive.
It as if your eyes do not want her to go
and you want her to linger,
while you create a story for the sun
as she paints the last colourful scene for the night
and leaves everything in shadows
while she enchants the moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem