From your hands no fist,
from your throat no splashing cry.
Roaming with your own rebellious steps
You are more revolutionary than Che Guevara.
It suffices that you smile,
pour your wrath out through your teeth
or with a mere gesture prostrate all the bayonets.
Girl of a thousand years
in my bosom’s revolution,
I could have sent you kisses
packed in cartridge belt boxes,
or through letters which would never arrive.
Let them all say armed movements
Are doomed to defeat
You but take your gun out and fire me.
tr. Farzaneh Doosti & Martin Turner