Mistakes, is it only we who make;
Don't You remain making any?
We call out "Master", but You do not answer;
Be informed, from our side we speak errantly.
The child knows not the One Who is his;
Why cause him to cry– only that, exclusive?
The blossom who had laid up nectar in her bosom;
Do You deem it good that desiccated be the honey?
A visage that is smile-filled, fine does it feel;
Why make it dark, why make it weep?
Why bring gloom, quash its light-beams?
Plaintive cries You don't hear!
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But then in what manner do You qualify as our Master?
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