Do not ask about the delight I experienced in concealing the secret of love; it was like a sip of honeyed wine that slid smoothly down my throat.

Holding back the secret of one's love is usually seen as a painful trial, but here the poet finds an exquisite, private bliss in that very silence. He likens this quiet restraint to 'mai-e-angabeen'—a rich, honey-sweetened wine that glides effortlessly down the throat and warms the soul from within. It reveals the beautiful paradox of devotion: love doesn't need to be declared to the world to be fulfilling, as the sheer act of holding it inside becomes an intoxicating joy.