I renounced my sadness
But I don't know why every time I give up
I become more susceptible to sadness

I sit in the expanse
Counting the clouds
Or set off to capture the lake
Then release it

O Lord, how many are my lanterns?
He approached me, and set my body free from my hand
And said, ‘My son - '
Then drowsiness overwhelmed him and he slept

The jasmine crosses over the fence
Towards the woman next door
Checks for her yearning
And descends on a trellis of bodies

Our neighbour
- I sneak a look at her as the jasmine does -
Washes her lovers
And hangs them out on language's shoulder

She bends
The top of her dress hangs down
O God, you have made me insane with those plump apples
But why am I at fault?
It's the apples that are plump

The peddlers came back, left the bread
A lost field came home

Our neighbour
Arranges her bosom
And restores the river to her blouse

I renounced
And my physician of language told me,
You are susceptible to poetry and to meaning
The poem will enter you

A woman, ripe, passed by
I said to my companion
She entered the poem to change her clothes
I felt embarrassed, instead of myself

Translated by Ayesha Saldanha