In Burundi’s Cradle

















Beneath blue skies and rolling hills,
Where rain the farmer’s basket fills,
Burundi sings in voices dear—
A language proud, both soft and clear.

The Kirundi winds begin to play,
And gently guide the heart each day.
The red earth glows with sacred flame,
Each furrow carved calls out her name.

The farmer walks with quiet grace,
Each seed he plants, a warm embrace.
Each season holds a tale, a song—
A sacred rite to pass along.

The sacred drum begins to sound,
As lilies bloom and peace is found.
The elders chant with voices wise,
Their spirits shining in the skies.

In Kirundo, the lakes reflect
A sky so calm, so pure, perfect.
And Bujumbura’s dreamlike shore
Hears stories fish have told before.

They whisper tales of days long past,
Of hopes and dreams too bright to last.
Of ancient worlds, of joy and pain,
Of children playing in the rain.

But even Eden has its cries,
When trees fall down and springtime dies.
When mountains lose their strength and pride,
And people turn from truth to hide.

O Burundi, my shining star,
I sing these lines from near and far.
With every prayer and every song,
I’ll guard your name my whole life long.

Protect your skies, your lakes, your trees,
Let drums still dance upon the breeze.
May children rise with morning light,
And sing your name in pure delight.

By Melchisedeck Boshirwa

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

La poésie au Burundi

Où est allé votre amour scolaire?

Je vous présente le Burundi