You are the master of my past, present and future, and also of any other phase that is left. You hold the power of my senses, and the limitation and freedom that are bestowed upon them.
You yourself give free reins to them or bind them and, thus, engage them in wrongful or meritorious deeds, and then, according to the self-made laws, punish or bless them. The identity, named as ‘I’, is nowhere in all of your drama.
Listen here, my Lord:
The highest blessing is your knowledge, though nobody can know you; the highest punishment is to live without your faith and assurance, though living without your faith is impossible.
How much the tree will bear without the water to its roots—hear, O Eternal Gardener: Your care is what this sapling seeks for! And if it has that, the stones and saws of others are welcomed and never minded.