We do not fear strangers; whatever fear there is, is only of our own people. Whenever we have suffered defeat or harm, it has always been at the hands of our own.

This couplet touches on the profound ache of betrayal by those we hold dearest. The poet tells us that strangers or enemies hold no real terror, because against them our defenses are always up. True devastation ('zak') only arrives from our own circle, where love and blind trust leave us completely vulnerable. It is a timeless observation that a wound cuts deepest not because of the blow itself, but because of the hands that dealt it.