I cannot accept it

If you say it's all over,

I accept it.

If you say that this was all to teach me a lesson

that I must suffer to expiate my sins,

I accept it.

If you tell me I must suffer

because I must learn how the gopis suffered

when Krishna left them in the rasa dance

or when he left for Mathura

or when they saw him in Kurukshetra

and realized he would never come back,

I accept it.

And if there is nothing more that I can do

no words I can say

no miracles within my reach that I can work

to soften your heart,

I accept it.

If you tell me the dream wasn't real

that I was in illusion,

that love in this world is not real

that men and women are attracted merely by lust

and must accept the consequences of their ignorance,

I accept it.

And if you say we're too old,

that time has run out

and there's no more room left in our lives

to chase after such ephemera as love,

yes, I accept it.

If you say my love was inadequate

unreal,

with my head bowed in shame

I accept it.

But if you say

the love by which you left scars on my heart,

the remnants of the touch of our breasts,

did not exist, was not real,

I cannot accept it.

And if you tell me the silent sonar that

pulses out of my chest

into infinite space, seeking you wherever you are,

has nothing to find, that there is nothing there,

no echo,

I cannot accept it.

I do not accept it.

I will never accept it.