Chapter 3 3

6 A domesticated bird is in a cage, a free bird is in a forest. When the time came, they met, as it was meant to be. "Oh, my love," said the free bird, "let us fly to the woods." The caged bird whispered, "Come here and let us both live in cages." The free bird said, "Where is there room to spread your wings in the middle of the fence?" "Poor thing," said the caged bird, "I don't know where to rest in the sky." The free bird cried, "Sing, my darling, the Wild Song." The caged bird said, "Sit beside me, and I will teach you the language of the learned."

The free bird cries, "No, no! Songs cannot be taught." "Poor me," said the caged bird, "I can't sing wild songs." Their love is intensified by longing, but they can never fly together. They look at each other across the fence, and their desire to know each other is vain. They flapped their wings in attachment and sang, "Come closer, my love!" "I can't do this," said the free bird, "I'm afraid of the closed door of this cage." The caged bird whispered, "My wings are weak and dead." 7 Oh, mother, the young prince is going to pass by our door,--how can I think of work this morning?

Teach me how to tie my hair; tell me which clothes to wear. Why do you look at me in surprise, mother? I know full well that he will not look up at my window; I know that in a moment he will be out of my sight; only the whistling of the dead electric flute will whimper to me from afar. But the young prince will pass by our door, and it's time for me to put on my best clothes. Oh, mother, the young prince has passed our door, and from his chariot shines the golden light of the morning sun. I brushed the veil from my face, I tore the ruby ​​choker from my neck, and threw it in his path.

Why do you look at me in surprise, mother? I know full well that he did not pick up my collar; I know that it was crushed under his wheels, leaving a red spot in the dust, and no one knows what my gift was like, nor who gave it. But the young prince passed by our door once, and I left my breast treasure in his path. 8 When the light by my bed goes out, I wake up with the morning bird. I put fresh flower strings on my hair and sit in front of the open window. The young traveler came down the road in the rosy morning mist. Beads are on his neck, and the sun is on his crown.He stopped at my door and asked me in a voice of longing, "Where is she?"

Because of my deep shyness, I was embarrassed to say: "She is me, young pedestrian, she is me." Evening came, and the lights had not yet been turned on. I braided my hair restlessly. In the light of the setting sun came young pedestrians in chariots. His chariot-horses are foaming at the mouth, and his robe is covered with dust. He got off in front of my door and asked in a tired voice, "Where is she?" Because of deep shyness, I am ashamed to say: "She is me, weary traveler, she is me." An April night.There is a light in my house. The south wind blows gently.The talkative parrot fell asleep in the cage.

My bodice is as colorful as a peacock's neck, and my veil is as green as tender grass. I sat on the ground in front of the window and watched the deserted street. In the dark night, I kept whispering, "She is me, disappointed pedestrian, she is me." 9 When I went to a tryst alone at night, the birds did not sing, the wind did not blow, and the houses on both sides of the street stood silently. It was my own anklets that made me shy as I walked louder. When I stand on the balcony and listen to his footsteps, the leaves do not shake, and the river is still like a sword on the lap of a sleeping sentinel.

It's my own heart that beats wildly - I don't know how to calm it down. When my love comes, sit beside me, when my body trembles, my eyelashes droop, the night gets darker, the wind blows the lights out, and the clouds drag the veil over the stars. It is the treasure in my own breast that shines.I don't know how to cover it up. 10 Leave your work alone, my bride.Listen, here comes the guest. Do you hear him shaking the chain that fastens the door? Be careful not to let your anklets rattle, and your steps are not too hasty in meeting him. Leave your work, bride, guests are coming in the evening.

No, it's not a cold wind, bride, don't be dismayed. It was a full moon on an April night, and the shadows in the courtyard were dim, and the sky above was bright. Cover your face with a veil, if you feel need; and go to the door with a lamp, if you are afraid. No, it's not a cold wind, bride, don't be dismayed. If you are shy you don't have to talk to him, just stand by the door when you greet him. If he asks you, if you are willing to do so, you just lower your eyes in silence. Don't let your bracelets rattle when you bring him in with the lamp. Don't have to talk to him if you're shy.

Is your work not done, bride?Listen, here comes the guest. Have you not lighted the lamps in the cowshed? Haven't you got the altar basket ready for evening prayers yet? You haven't painted the bright red auspicious spots in the crevices of your hair, haven't you done your evening makeup yet? Oh, bride, don't you hear, is there a visitor? Let go of your work!