I am pale with longing for my beloved; br People believe I am ill. br Seizing on every possible pretext, br I try to meet him 'by accident.' br br They have sent for a country doctor; br He grabs my arm and prods it; br How can he diagnose my pain? br It's in my heart that I am afflicted. br br Go home, country doctor, br Don't address me by my name; br It's the name of God that has wounded me, br Don't force your medicines on me. br br The sweetness of his lips is a pot of nectar, br That's the only curd for which I crave; br Mira's Lord is Giridhar Naagar. br He will feed me nectar again and again.