This sweet union I have with pain, this wasting of my bone and marrow with the cuckoo's call, drinking my own tears mixed with date palm sap, or a festering wound on my back, cool as salve— can you give me these things?
Can you? Then tell me... I'll run barefoot and touch my head to your feet; the way I bow before God. Tell me, should I come?
Oh... I know. How could you give such things! All you can offer is money—so much money you have.
Ask for a little time, you'll buy me Kanchipuram silk, want to talk, you'll buy me gold and silver jewelry, want to meet, you could buy me a whole house!
Well, you have all these things yourself, so why are you unhappy? Can you tell me? Where is your joy?
Have you ever dared ask yourself this question? Of course, where do you have the time... Only I have so much idle time... The jobless one's work is thinking and making others think... ha ha ha What do you say?
Think about it—what does it take to be happy, to satisfy the soul? No no, I don't mean what I need. I've already understood that I'm not needed anywhere.
You could buy me the whole world, but you can't give me a little time. Yet it was the small you I fell in love with. Our little memories, songs, conversations, little quarrels—with these I kept you alive.
Surprised? Never mind, I won't surprise you anymore. Go on, go to the office; you're getting late. Besides the office, where else do you have to go!