Your Innocence And Ignorance

Had I come to know your innocence and ignorance, Had I your poor soul and heart, Had I your guileless heart And simplicity, It would, it would have been my greater bliss That I could have known Known and felt, Vidisha 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, The verse-lines I present to the world As the bouquets of flowers.