The room is a quiet forest,
a woman is dressed in
burgundy, soft, printed fabric
draped around her shapely
tiny body. No one speaks,
we wait for the show. Asian
music plays from behind the
divider and the beautiful
golden makeup glitters
with timeless tracks of
a history danced upon
the ages. Men travel
miles to glimpse of one,
to be in their presence,
feel a unique woman’s
eyes of khol, white
powdered skin,
golden pins in the swept
hair. Hours of patience
into beautiful art, the art
of a woman whose name
is silent. The human art
of a broken heart, created
to represent beauty, music,
truth. So many hidden
trees inside those eyes,
yet the woman smiles
and takes pictures with
us after the dance. She
has to take a cab
or people stare and ask
her too many questions.
Why are you a geisha?
How old are you?
Do you have a boyfriend?
No man, no age, no answer.
I have forsaken love for art.
Photo by Keith Syvinski from FreeImages
