Girl, now why don't you become a woman.
So many days have come and gone, will come and go; time itself will one day run out; girl, why linger pointlessly in the corner of the room? Better now to let that rain-soaked heart dry. Wring out the water, set it in harsh sun, let your heart ring now with its marble song.
How long will you stay trapped in the cry of not having, girl! Carelessly, carelessly—hasn't enough moss gathered on life's body!
Now tear all that away, now bloom lotus there instead, if nothing else, at least cultivate nagchampa, girl! How could that be any less pleasing to God! Girl, now become an offering.
Now be not the sullen night, but rather become morning touched with fresh breeze, become cotton-soft, not a burden, become sky, become river, become autumn, or... or become tea-steam without thought; become a flamingo lost from Tanzania.
Girl, now why don't you become a woman.