Who are you, shrouded lady, swathed in your sheet, 
Gliding, ghost like in the bustling street?
My countenance visible, yours a mystery
l can’t understand, am blind and don’t see.
Why, keep your face secret,
Concealed, so no one can know, how you feel?
Your laughter or tears, can never be shared,
You can’t know if people cared.
Mysterious woman, with your strong beliefs,
Your identity, on the alter of devotion, sacrificed.
You are, Just a shadow in the milling throng;
For your freedom, do you ever long?
Perhaps you feel safe, in your isolated state;
Invisible, to the lonely stranger awaiting his fate.
Denying yourself, from being part, of our proactive human race,
As no one, but your family, can ever see your face.