Your soul is a lake of love
In which my desires are swans.
See how they make the rounds,
As they create wakes behind them!

Adventurous explorers
They advance, their wings outspread.
Nothing is ignored by them,
From blue waves to green islands.

Noisy and bombastic, each
Possess a whiteness without equal,
Desires born into the redolence
Of a Bengali sun.

Others are mute and black,
With an air of mystery,
Desires born during the evenings,
Where the whole earth drifts off to sleep.

Innumerable are these birds
Which your soul may see hatching.
How many already on the waters,
And how many are yet to be born!

Don’t hesitate! At any moment, 
New arrivals will charge the shore
While yesterday’s crop pensively 
Head out to sea.

Soon you must tear your eyes away from them 
For the present demands
That they never cease to glide
Towards the depths of the soul.

And in a blessed harmony, 
Over this crystal sheen of limpid water, 
One hears forever
The rustling of feathers in the wind.