The path we leave behind
Re tsere tselana ya morong, ra tlogela mohlala wa mmila, Legato e le maoto mobung, seforo motsila. Tsa ya go khaoletsa mohlala, e le wa kgato, Tsona dikhupetso tsa tselana, mowa o seetsa kganya ka lethoko la spoor. We set off on the hunter's narrow path, leaving clear tracks behind, Our footsteps pressed deep into the soil, carving a trench in the dust. Step after steady step, our stride defined the way, While the wind swept across the track, making the dust glisten along our spoor. "Resetse morago, o se sale morago, Mogwera, ke go etele pele, me o ntatele morago. Motswalle, mmogo re sehlophana sa batsomi, A re e sware tselana, re tlogele mohlala." "Stay close behind, do not stray," I called out, "My friend, I will lead the way, and you follow my steps. Together, my companion, we are a band of hunters, Let us hold fast to this trail and leave our mark." A re hlatlose, re hlahlele, o sale morago, Re lebe go yo tsoma, re tlogele mohlala wa tsela ya go boyela morago gape. Tsela ke mokoka wa masaledi, monkgo wa rena ke sehopotso, Mohlala wa kgatiso wa moriti wa go yo tsoma, go nyaka o lebelela. Let us push upward, reload our spirits, and follow the trace, We venture out to hunt, leaving a path to guide us safely home. For a trail is a backbone woven from memories, our scent lingering as a reminder, Every footprint is a shadow cast by the hunt, demanding our watchful eye. O leka go tsela kitimisa, o etelela pejana ka go hlahla, O lebe mokhobi, o siile mothaka o metse motseleng. Mohlala senaka, sesupo sa masalesa, sephiri sa mawatla, Motswalle waka wa go ya nageng, a itatela ka go lora. I urged the pace forward, guiding us toward the riverbend, Leaving behind the tall grass rooted along the track. The trail held its secrets—the call of the horn, the sign of remnants, the quiet mysteries of the wild, My companion dreamed of the hunt as he ventured into the bush. Re tsoma, o hloela, o lebala maoto, Bjale mosese wa gagwe o be o hula fase, O leka go phagama, o ikela godimo. Yena o be a nsetse morago nako e telele. We hunted as he scouted ahead, forgetting the weight of his own feet, His cloak brushed the dusty ground, As he strained to rise higher, reaching toward the ridges above. He had walked beside me and followed my lead for a long time. Mme he, mogwera wa rena a thoma go sala morago, A awpela gannyane, a gata gannyane, Me a feta ka tsela e fosagetsego. But then, our friend began to drift back, He faltered slightly, taking a slow, hesitant step, And wandered off onto the wrong path.
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