Mirrors

You run from people, from the sun.
You'd like to hide the black of your hair,
your cheeks when they redden with shyness.

I find your kindness behind clumsy indifference,
your simplicity behind words that aren't made of you.

What I love in you seems strange to you;
what you don't love in yourself seems strange to me.

I should stand between you and every mirror.
The picture you can see in these eyes
you won't easily find in a mirror.
Maybe the night is a withdrawn woman like you,
always ashamed of the holes in her chador.