The Taunt of the Ill-Wisher

I won't say it's the cruelty of the times that's killing me; it's the enemy's taunt and my love's broken promise. Being far from her leaves me restless: several times a day the grief, the ache, the burn of waiting kills me. I love that hot-tempered one in secret, yet she kills me in public, to make an example for the world. If I walk down a street, I become the children's plaything; if I sit in a corner, the thought of you wears me down. I spend the night lost in dreams of you, and by day, what becomes of me? The memory of those dark nights of weeping kills me. The longing to see you was killing me before, and now the wish for a kiss, the hope of your embrace, kills me too. A doctor takes the trouble to treat me, unaware that, like Mohyi, the fire in my wounded soul is what kills me.