To the doctor

…My dear doctor, there’s no need
To call me though I know that you care:
Love is an illness even you can’t treat –
This is one thing of which I am well aware!

Let me live on and reach my journey’s end
With agony that not just stubs or torments
But also rewards, and gives me strength –
Being a lifebuoy in the life’s mad torrents.

It is my inner pillar, sharp and fine
Like swords produced by best Damascus bladesmiths...
Love is my all-time dread, my timeless shrine,

And no medicines, neither would I pray
To live a sheltered life of peace and quiet –
A poet should welcome this sweet pain!
That’s my way… strewn with roses and barbed wire.