I am a woman, not more, nor less. I live my life a string by a string, design my clothes to put them on, not to master a piece of ancient art. And when i look, i see things as they are, though i would stare in its shadows sometimes, so i feel the beat of what i miss. . . Go write tomorrow in yesterday's book, only echos got voice. . . I love the necessary mistery in the words of the night traveller, the words he writes to describe a bird that disappeared beyond words, beyond far hutts. . I am a woman , not more, not less. . . In march i fly with almond flowers, though im there on my balcony. . . Longing to what the absent says, touch me my girl, so i walk my horses to the water of your spring. . . . . I cry for no obvious reason, and i love you just the way you are, not because you stand for me, nor cause of nothin. . . And from between my shoulders, i know there starts your day, and when i hold you tight, there falls a night. . Though still, im not a moon by that nor a sun. . . Im a woman, not more, not less. . . So be romeo, if you like, but I, i like to love the way i love, not be a portrait in a book, or a thought in some song. . . I can hear joliet crying, dont leave me just a prisoner in tales, dont leave me a matter of gossipe for others. . . I am a woman, not more, nor less. . . I am me, like the way you are you, living inside me, and i live inside you, for you, to you. . . I like the necessary clarity in our shared mistery, im yours when i bloom from night, but im not a homeland. . . Not a travel. . Im a woman, no more no less.. . And i get tired by the feminin moon , my guitar becomes ill, a string by a string. . . For i am a woman, no more, no less. . . Darwish.