Had I come to know your innocence and ignorance,
Had I your poor soul and heart,
Had I your guileless heart
It would, it would have been my greater bliss
That I could have known
Known and felt,
My daughter, you know it not the wide world,
How crafty and intriguing is it,
How the men who dwell in here,
How the people of it!
I know not, know not the world
And the people who dwell in here.
They call me a poet
And I too pride in
But you know it not
What am I for?
I am not a poet in reality
As a rhymer, a poetaster or a versifier am I frankly speaking.
Had I been a poet really, I would have at least your heart,
Your heart and mind,
How is this childish heart!
How the feelings!
What is it to be got from you!
None but I myself have called myself a poet
And the world is as such
That it too has started calling me.
Had I known your innocence and ignorance,
Had it been been a flower,
I could have sketched it, Vidisha;
Your love, Vidisha, is my poetry,
I present to the world
As the bouquets of flowers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem