I was born on a mountainside
Where the setting sun hurls its final radiance
And grass glows in golden fire
The valley dark, long been gloomed in shade.
I was born on a mountainside.
The day’s very first rays of sunrise
Steal severely through a crevice in my wall.
Slim shimmery spears, they pierce into my eyes!
I was born on a mountainside.
At dawn I in the valley behold
A solid mass of white morning mist
Like cotton strewn all over, covering end to end
Which soon boils slowly like a magic broth
In curly wisps dispersing into the air
Till all is clear and the sky is bright
And the great sun smiles, its laughter to our world
(c) Hillary Kuteisa
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