Believe me when I say
I am not only a muse for your ghazals.
I do not split into stanzas like your poems.
I come with new songs myself.
You write about how delicate women are.
I speak of our courage.
You write of the blush on my cheeks.
I give color to life.
You sing songs for my lips,
In these dark and narrow streets
My lips and I give voice to freedom.
You wrap my hair around your poetry.
I make my hair a rope around the neck of ignorance.
I am not just your muse.
I have new songs.
I am a voice from the depths of the hearts of women
Singing on mountain tops.
I have a song from somewhere far.
My feet, red like tulips, I walk on fire
And you, you boundless darkness, you will never see me weak.
Read this piece in Persian here.
Feature image courtesy of Rada Akbar.