I Am Pale With Longing For My Beloved;

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