It is the rainy season, I dig a canal;
In the hope of union I clap my hands.
The clouds are pregnant with drops from the sea of love;
I am pregnant with those clouds.
Don’t say you are not a musician, clap your hands!
Come! I will teach you to become one.
So bright! will you tell me whose house is that?
I love bright houses so!
Alas I hide my own water of life
As oil drops cover the surface of water.