I know a woman
Who in a corner of the house
In between washing and cooking
In the kitchen
Sings the hymn of love

Her eyes are simple and lonely
Her voice tired and sad
Her hope lying in the bottom of tomorrow

I know a woman
Who says she regrets
For having lost her heart to him
Where was he worthy of it

A woman whispering
I like to run away from this house
But then asks herself:
Who would comb my kid’s hairs
After me?

A woman who is pregnant with pain
A woman with a newborn of grief

A woman weaving a dress of lace
With the warps and woofs of loneliness
A woman in a dark corner
Performing the prayer of Light

A woman used to chain
A woman familiar with jail
The cold look of warder
Is all her share

I know a woman…

I know a woman
Who withers with humiliation
Yet, sings the song
This is the game of fate

A woman gets used to poverty
A woman sleeps with tear
A woman with envy and awe
Not knowing what she has done wrong

A woman hides
Her varicose feet
A woman hides
Her buried pain
From the eyes of people
Not to hear from them all
You are so hopeless, helpless

I know a woman
Whose poem smells of grief
But laughs and says:
The world is always full of
Twists and turns, ups and downs

I know a woman
Who every night
Puts her children to bed
With the lullaby of fables and tales
Even though bearing in her own chest
An old agonizing ache

A woman fears leaving
For she is the house‘ candle
What a dark house it turns into
If she walks out of the door

A woman ashamed
Of her empty table
Telling her hungry child
Sleep my dear baby, sleep
While I sing you
Your favorite lullaby

I know a woman
Whose skirt is yellow
Her days and nights passing in tears
For she is barren, pregnant with pain

I know a woman
Not having any more force to go
All her steps tired
Her heart screaming
Under her feet
Enough is enough

I know a woman who has wrestled
With the devil of her ego
More than hundred thousands
And because at last she came out victor
She laughed and mocked
The infamy of vicious people

A woman sings
A woman keeps silent
A woman even spends the night
In the safe haven of an alleyway

A woman toils like a man
Having painful blisters on her hand
She has forgotten
She is pregnant

A woman in a dying bed
A woman near to death

Who will remember her
I don’t know?
One night on a small bed
A woman will quietly die

And another woman would
Take her revenge
From a prostitute-like man
I know a woman
A woman…

Saturday Khordad 8 1389 (May 29 2010)
Translation from Farsi by Roya Monajem, Tehran