It is better to consume poison and die in separation; who has the patience to wait for death to arrive on its own?

This couplet captures the sheer desperation of separation, where emotional agony becomes far heavier to bear than physical death. The pain of parting is already killing the lover like a slow poison, making the wait for a natural end feel like an endless torture. Choosing poison is not just an impulse of despair, but an impatient plea to break free from an ache that has simply crossed all human limits.