The name-sayer of things, her muted hands on strings
she cannot see an arch where-through
gleams that untraveled world.
Her father’s daughter,
a worn, red scarf frames her face
in silken borders of religious submission.
Adam’s ego, in fear of falling,
subjugates a female’s dignity behind the veil,
a sucked-clean rib.
Beneath the burka, a woman in solitude,
luminescence within the howling chaos of clenched fists
& stones thrown, no tempo, no notes.
Not all who wander end up lost, only exile
that carries her everywhere,
nowhere, anywhere she wants.