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]

by Mirabai

Comments (3)

Yes, I love to be also. But all that glitters is not gold. Nice poem, very apt
Children like to fantasize in line with the folktales they have heard or read in their childhood. They want to be one of the lot. Thanks.
this is a beautiful poem :)