If fate does not turn in favor of my wounded heart's desire, so be it; long live the liver-gnawing agony born of overwhelming longing.

Here, the poet meets fate's defiance with a proud and passionate acceptance of his own suffering. He says that if the universe refuses to comfort his wounded heart, so be it—at least the fiery, soul-gnawing intensity of unfulfilled longing remains fiercely alive. By celebrating 'jigar-khaai' (the torment that devours the inner self), he turns heartache into a badge of honor, finding purpose not in fulfillment, but in the sheer depth of feeling.