O healer, you may gladly draw out the arrowhead, but know that the moment the arrow leaves my liver, my life too will depart from my body.

Imagine a wound so deep and deeply felt that living has become inseparable from the pain itself. The poet tells the well-meaning healer to go ahead and pull the arrowhead from his heart, but with a poignant warning: the arrow is the only plug keeping his soul tethered to his body. To cure the lover of his agonizing love is, ironically, to bring about his very death.