By means of immense agony, too much having wept,
My Hardhearted Lord, You have come.
What You want, that too, I don't know;
What You speak, I don't fathom that also.
I but know, just understand: Myself have You loved.
I know not if greatly remote You dwell;
Is that why pain does not penetrate ear's tunnel?
Or maybe deliberately, You pretend to be deaf;
Else, You don't wish to let know what You've thought.
You paint a portrait of Your divine sport;
Mayhap unawares You sketch, You stay deep in thought.
To start-middle-finish You pay no attention;
At length and irrespective, smiling, on You've gone.
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Ultimately, I comprehend nothing.
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