At the time I found You as my psychic image;
Then You have replaced the filth.
Even when I heeded not, still then You have watched;
Now I see that filling mind You have been.
Ever since days of yore, hey the Person Ultimate,
To fathom You, whose is such knowledge?
Having tried to comprehend, intuition pays attention:
Intellect and intuition, all of it You've conferred.
I did not give anything, I have taken only;
More than what I've wanted, I have received.
And when I've tried to give back Your thing,
As recompense, that You've packed in my wicker basket.
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All that's mine has come from You, and You refuse to take from me. So can it be that we both just pretend?
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