Will my love make me free?
Does it strike me mentally?
Does it maintain ideality?
A true love does it...
So, my dear please hurt me;
just give me pain,
and I will be perfect again and again.
Just give me the pain...
Yes, my soul will get strain,
and my blood will pull the pain.
(again and again)
So, my dear love me
and do hurt me...
If your love makes me pure,
I will be someday free.
But you should always be in glee
as you love me, and I am very much sure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem