My friends envy the deep wound in my heart, and I am dying of dread wondering why they are searching for my killer.

In the world of ghazals, suffering a wound at the hands of the beloved is the ultimate badge of honor, which is why the poet's friends look upon his agony with utter envy. But the lover is consumed by dread over why they are desperately searching for his 'slayer.' He isn't worried about his own pain; he fears they might expose the beloved's identity, or worse, meet her, fall helplessly under the same spell, and end up becoming his rivals.