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.
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Author:
Shahla Latifi (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 30th, 2026 10:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell
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Comments5
A very nice write of life and romance. Well done.
Thank you.
You are very welcome
Just because you were taught to be virtuous doesn't mean you have to be.
Something tells me virtue was forgotten down by the lake, though maybe regained when you got home.
As a young child and teenage girl, I did what I was asked, yet my poetic soul was deeply connected to novels, French cinema, and the beauty of nature. Sharing my personal journey might inspire readers to reflect on their own sources of inspiration and feel a sense of wonder. Thank you for your comment.
A deeply evocative poem about the tension between imposed virtue and hidden desire. Even a positive word like “virtue,” when imposed rather than chosen, can take on a negative meaning.
Unfortunately, I kept the virtues, only broken in my imagination.
Thank you for reading and for your curious comment.
You are very welcome.
First of all, I appreciate your honesty and the serenity with which you express your thoughts. Perhaps imagination has its own way of preserving virtues, even when reality leaves them a little broken. I am glad you shared your words; they certainly gave me something to reflect on.
That said, I was particularly intrigued by what you meant when you said, “Unfortunately, I kept the virtues.” If you do not mind my asking, do you mean that you do not believe in those virtues at all, or that you are questioning them because they were imposed on you rather than chosen by you?
At the same time, I can understand that virtues, like any other values, can be arbitrary or shaped by the culture we grow up in. What is considered a virtue in one context may not carry the same meaning in another. Perhaps it is also certain similarities in our cultural backgrounds that make me particularly curious about your perspective. They make me wonder whether we may have inherited some of the same notions of virtue, while perhaps arriving at very different feelings about them.
For that reason, if you do not mind my asking, what is it about these particular virtues that makes keeping them feel unfortunate to you?
I love virtuous passion; a person can hold romantic notions, explore them freely, and choose how to express them. Yet, if boundaries are set out of fear - someone not stepping out of the lines of cultural facts and shaky beliefs- that is an unfortunate thing for a poetic soul to endure. Sharing this vulnerability can help readers feel connected and understood. Even though I grew up in a very educated background with a mother, free-minded as a bright star, and a father, a college professor, I didn't have the right to live as a free soul. Yes, I feel unfortunate that I never fully pursued the path of love and am still relying on the magnitude of nature's beauty, art, and exploring my self-identity through the passage of time...
Thank you for your time and your interest in this poem and my sincere approach to writing.
Thank you for trusting me with something so deeply personal and sincere. I can feel how much your words come from a place of reflection, longing, and a genuine desire for freedom of the soul. What you shared goes beyond the poem—it speaks to the quiet grief of having a free and sensitive spirit, yet feeling that life did not always give you the freedom to follow where your heart wanted to go.
It is touching that, despite the boundaries and limitations you experienced, you found ways to keep that poetic spirit alive through nature, art, and the ongoing exploration of your own identity. Perhaps there is also something beautiful in the fact that your journey toward love and self-understanding continues to unfold with time. I think there is something especially poignant in what you said about never fully pursuing the path of love. Sometimes the lives we are expected to live and the lives our hearts imagine can be very different, and that distance can leave a lasting ache. Yet I don't think those unlived possibilities make your life any less meaningful. Perhaps they have found another language in you—in your poetry, in your appreciation of nature and art, and in your continued search to understand yourself.
And I hope you don't see your sensitivity or your romantic nature as something unfortunate. To remain capable of wonder, tenderness, and longing after experiencing limitations is, in itself, a kind of courage. There is still beauty in the fact that you continue to explore, feel, and express what is true within you.
Your poem and your reflections carry a quiet honesty that makes them meaningful. I truly appreciate your sincere approach and the beauty of the perspective you share. Thank you for sharing not only your writing, but a little of the story behind it. I feel privileged to have been allowed that glimpse into your inner world.
ساقی به نورِ باده برافروز جامِ ما
مطرب بگو که کارِ جهان شُد به کامِ ما
هرگز نمیرد آن که دلش زنده شد به عشق
ثبت است بر جَریدهٔ عالم دوامِ ما
مستی به چشمِ شاهدِ دلبندِ ما خوش است
زآن رو سپردهاند به مستی زمامِ ما
حافظ ز دیده دانهٔ اشکی همیفشان
باشد که مُرغِ وصل کُند قصدِ دامِ ما
به من نگر که بدیدم هزار آزادی
چو عشق را دل و جانم کنیزک است و غلام
بکش مرا که چو کشتی به عشق زنده شدم
خموش کردم و مردم تمام گشت کلام
شاید آزادی تنها به معنای نبودنِ مرزها و محدودیتها نیست. گاهی آزادی در این است که انسان، با وجود مرزهایی که نتوانسته از آنها رهایی یابد، حقیقتِ قلب خویش را حفظ کند. و شاید عشقی که نتوانستهایم آن را به تمامی در بیرون از خود زندگی کنیم، بتواند در درونمان به شعر، زیبایی، خودشناسی و آزادیِ درونی بدل شود؛ آزادیای که گاه دیرتر، اما عمیقتر، در زندگی به سراغمان میآید.
By the way, your picture from such a very young age can be described as “sadly innocent and beautiful.” There is a quiet tenderness in it that is difficult to put into words.
Thank you for taking the time to reflect on your honest feelings about my sincere writing style.
I appreciate the Persian poem and the beautiful Persian note. May nature bless you with light and happiness.
Thank you for your kind and thoughtful words. I am truly glad that the Persian poem and note resonated with you. Your appreciation means a great deal to me. May nature’s beauty and light always surround you as well, bringing you peace, happiness, and inspiration.
I cannot know for sure what happened next (though I have no objection to additional information !) I can only speculate on an alternative: If you allow yourself to be guided by external restrictions, it is possible you will miss out on a richer life.
As usual a beautifully constructed piece.
I let society dictate my choices, yet my bravery at the time was above my peers' norm.
Thank you for your wonderful, curious comment.
Following our exchange of thoughts on your poem and the reflections it stirred, I wrote "Beyond the Border" as a continuation of our conversation. I would be grateful if you would take the time to read it.
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