This one believes in true love,
that one has serious doubts,
but, I forsake such illusory concepts.

I have tasted the nectar of the Higher Above,
and have come to see,
how superficial, we use this word.

Love is rich in delights and meanings,
so full of shadings to reckon with,
and love renews itself form after form.

When hijacked by concupiscent love,
the demon-mother Az of ancient Iran,
gives a potion of forgetfulness for what is dearest.

One forgets to love the parent,
not to mention dear and true friends,
for lust and jealousy now reigns.

So beware, and learn quickly,
for life’s lessons not heeded
grow bitter, even beyond your end.