Something is going wrong in the prayer

 
Dear Nilesh, you do love to write so much,
so would you write the story of a foolish girl?
That girl loved a stone her whole life long.
That stone drove her away again and again…
yet still the girl wanted to stay near it, to tend it, to speak with it…


When you write her story, let that girl possess your mind…
understand her sorrow, understand her anguish…
then, if you wish, through your pen
scold that girl harshly, Nilesh!
Let everyone who sees her learn, let them understand
that loving need not make one quite so foolish.


At the end of your story, make that girl weep bitterly.
Let her cry until her eyes go blind from weeping…
after seeing her, let no one else in this world
become such a sincere lover again.
In the love of foolish girls, let there be
far more deception than heart, Nilesh!


Why do you sit in silence?
Won't you write? Is your pen refusing to consent?
You write! You can finish the writing, I know.
Nilesh, let more praise fall at your feet…
let more women pray for you.


One thing. Keep this in mind —
at some stage of life you will one day know
that you have received much honor,
much fame too you have gathered,
pure love — you have made it the pinnacle of this life,
yet despite all that imagination and intellect, you still
never understood what love is!


I know, Nilesh, you will suddenly say now
that I'm terribly judgmental, that I'm worthless, that I'm many other things too…
Say it if you will. I shall only listen and remain silent.
Write down this fool's words in your diary with today's date, Nilesh.


Ten years from now, or even later,
one day you will surely know I was not wrong,
that you had made some mistakes, which you never wanted to understand.
That day, free this wretched woman a little from
the judgmental title you gave her…let the poor thing breathe a little!
You will remember, won't you, Nilesh-babu?


That day, even if I am no longer alive, surely my beloved
will bring news of this freedom to my ears.
That day will be my day of joy, of great happiness, of recognition.


You write, you have many readers.
None of them love you, so they don't understand.
They tell you nothing, because you are not in their thoughts.
They understand your poetry, not you, Nilesh!
They keep you in their applause, never in their lives.


Nilesh, I want you to understand the truth one day.
I keep you in my prayers…will keep you till the last day.
Better to know the truth and be miserable than to live well knowing lies.
I know that even when truth comes and stands before you, you will manage just fine.


Know the truth, Nilesh! Ask not your eyes but your heart.
Sit at its feet, bow your head and listen — it never tells lies.