1. With my own self, who comes to me and returns
And asks how I am, though he knows of my pain

2. Returns to my pillow, blissful and content
Then leaves me restless, fretful and stiff

3. With excuses for the wrong he has done
He came torn between guilt and excuses

4. Wanting to apologize but shyness holds him back
What good are excuses when one is in the wrong?

5. I forgave all his coldness towards me
Though I had books filled with reproaches for him

6. Books of reproach whose pages brimmed with sorrow
And were titled with copious flowing tears

7. Secrets like the edges of sharp tongues, each time
One is cut by them, a new one appears, keen and slicing

8. When I say this as his wound agonizes
The salve of love flows from me, healing and staunching

9. These words cannot cure the hurt, though I try
Except the efforts of the loving beloved to dress the wound anew