O my healer, I no longer worry about crossing the ocean of sorrow. No remedy can work now, for the water has already risen above my head.

Here, the poet addresses their well-wisher or healer with a poignant sense of quiet surrender. Grief is imagined as a vast, inescapable ocean, but rather than fighting to survive, the speaker has stopped caring about reaching the shore. Invoking the age-old metaphor of water rising above one's head, the couplet beautifully captures that tipping point where sorrow becomes so absolute that no comfort or remedy can reach it anymore.