The woman, bare in the feast of wind, mirror, and desert
puts her hand upon herself, upon woman, upon the night;
there is no secret, no word.

They have entrusted the wordless woman to waters and dreams.

The woman knows,
the wordless woman is the exiled woman.

The woman, bare, hand on the mirror, on the sand, on the wind
the exiled woman.

The end of secrets is the end of words.

An empty mirror
they took the event from the night,
the feast from the body,
the want from the open dress,
and the beauty from the woman.

The woman, unattractive, bare, exiled, wordless
puts her hand upon the night, upon desire, upon fervor.

Andisheh