Beautiful face 
That like a daisy opens its petals to the sun 
So do you 
Open your face to me as I turn the page. 

Enchanting smile 
Any man would be under your spell, 
Oh, beauty of a magazine. 

How many poems have been written to you? 
How many Dantes have written to you, Beatrice? 
To your obsessive illusion 
To you manufacture fantasy. 

But today I won’t make one more Cliché 
And write this poem to you. 
No, no more clichés. 

This poem is dedicated to those women 
Whose beauty is in their charm, 
In their intelligence, 
In their character, 
Not on their fabricated looks. 

This poem is to you women, 
That like a Shahrazade wake up 
Everyday with a new story to tell, 
A story that sings for change 
That hopes for battles: 
Battles for the love of the united flesh 
Battles for passions aroused by a new day 
Battle for the neglected rights 
Or just battles to survive one more night. 

Yes, to you women in a world of pain 
To you, bright star in this ever-spending universe 
To you, fighter of a thousand-and-one fights 
To you, friend of my heart. 

From now on, my head won’t look down to a magazine 
Rather, it will contemplate the night 
And its bright stars, 
And so, no more clichés. 

Octavio Paz


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