In plain words
O you, I am mad with prema, and no one knows my pain. My bed is laid on the stake; in what way is there any sleeping? The beloved's bed is up in the circle of the sky; in what way is there any meeting? A wounded one knows the state of the wounded, or the one the wound has struck. A jeweller knows the state of a jeweller, or the one who has the jewel. Struck down by the pain I wander forest to forest, and no physician has been found. Mīrā's ache will be wiped away then, when the dark one is the physician.