Bài số 09 09

09

When I go alone at night to my love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind does not stir, the
houses on both sides of the street stand silent.
It is my own anklets that grow loud at every step and I am ashamed.
When I sit on my balcony and listen for his footsteps, leaves do not rustle on the trees,
and the water is still in the river, like the sword on the knees of a sentry fallen asleep.
It is my own heart that beats wildly ⎯ I do not know how to quiet it.
When my love comes and sits by my side, when my body trembles and my eyelids
droop, the night darkens, the wind blows out the lamp, and the clouds draw veils over
the stars.
It is the jewel at my own breast that shines and gives light. I do not know how to hide it.