Be virtuous. I was taught.
Looking back on days when the summer was mildly warm,
the sun generously opened the door at the roof of the village,
looking at my face, at the reflection of the ray of sun,
silky dark hair shining like daytime stars,
I just wanted the softness of imprisoned doves next to me.
Growing, year by year,
my skin endured many harsh winters; my hair grew much longer;
my height was as small as the lonely willow tree that stopped growing with time.
I knew I was becoming a woman, fully grown under the night stars.
Be virtuous! They commanded.
Carelessly running through the mist of feelings,
I envisioned comfort in the arms of a strong hero,
the caress of his hands around my waist; I looked to novels for solace.
She is a virtuous girl! A diamond, on the top of the misty time!
They said around me, to me, about me, all the time.
Hidden treasures in my heart,
the lengthy kisses of the heroine by the lake in the quiet of the nights, the touch of one skin with lips, fresh as tulips,
scented with blissful moments, so hungry, so real,
kept my soul flowing passionately with time.