It's my own anklets that grow louder as I walk make me shy. 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's the jewel in my own breast that shines. I don't know how to hide it. The lake will wrap around your feet, babbling its secrets.

On the beach there is the shadow of a coming rain cloud, and the cloud hangs low on the green line of the bushes, like the thick hair on your brow. I am deeply familiar with the rhythm of your footsteps, it beats in my heart. Come, come to my lake, if you must fill your pitcher. If you want to sit around and let your water bottle float on the water, come on, come on to my lake, The grass slopes are green and there are countless wild flowers. Your thoughts will fly from your black eyes like birds from their nests. Your veil will fall to your feet. Come, if you will sit idle, come to my lake.

If you want to leave swimming and jump in the water, come, come to my lake. Leave your blue scarf on the shore; the blue water will cover you and cover you. The waves will tiptoe to kiss your neck and whisper in your ear. Come on, if you want to jump in the water, come to my lake. If you want to go mad and throw yourself into death come, come to my lake. It is cool and bottomless. It is as dark as dreamless sleep. In its depths night is day, and song is silence. Come, if you want to plunge into death, come to my lake. The tiredness still lingers in dawn's eyes, dew weeps in the air.

The lazy smell of wet grass hangs in the mist of the ground. Under the banyan tree you milk the milk with hands as soft as butter. I stood still. I didn't say a word. It was the hidden bird singing in the leaves. The mango trees sprinkled their blossoms on the village path, and the bees buzzed here and there. The door of Shiva's temple by the pond opened, and worshipers began to chant sutras. You milk the jug on your lap. I stood with the empty bucket. I didn't come near you. The sky wakes up with the sound of the gong in the temple. Street dust flies under the hooves of the driven cows.

With gurgling water bottles at their waists, women come from the river. Your bracelets jingle, milk foam overflows the rim of the jug. The morning light fades away and I don't come near you.