I had a dream: someone will come.

 

I had a dream: someone will come.

I had a dream about that Red Star,

And my eyes are blinking all the time,

And my steps pair, out of the blue.

 

I swear to God,

I don’t lie:

I dreamt about that Red Star,

when I was awake.

 

Someone will come,

Someone is coming,

Someone else,

Someone better,

Someone who is like no one

Someone who is not like my daddy,

And is not even like my mom.

Someone who is not like Ali,

And is not like Sara.

Someone,

The one who “ought to be”.

 

She is like the one who “ought to be”

She is taller than our neighbors’ trees,

And her face is brighter than Mohamed’s face.

 

She is not afraid of  Mr. Nour’ bro

who wears a marine uniform,

and has a huge, huge pistol.

 

She is not even scared of Mr. Nour

who owns all of our buildings’ rooms.

 

She must be a Saint,

I know, he can read my sister’s English book

with closed eyes.

  

I know, she can take a thousand off a million

very-very fast.

She can do something and we won’t have any blackout,

especially on Friday nights.

 

And she can make the Allah neon,

on the top of the mosque,

to become bright and green again.

 

Oh, I like that green neon.

I like colorful lights so much.

And I want Ali to have a bike,

with a big, red  flash light,

And I want to sit on the back of his bike,

And turn around the square.

 

Oh, I like biking around the square so much.

It is so good to go to the park,

And it is so good to have an ice cream,

And it is so good to drink a coke,

And it is so good to go to a movie.

I like all those good things a lot.

 

I am so little,

and I always get lost in the streets.

But daddy is not little at all,

And he knows all the roads in our town.

 

Why he doesn’t do something

for the Red Spot to come here soon?

 

Why he cannot make my dream to come true?

Why nobody does anything?

 

Oh, this sun is so lazy,

and it is still cold…

But I cleaned up everywhere,

I even washed all the stairs,

and I opened all the windows.

 

Why my daddy doesn’t dream at all?

 

It is still cold…

But I cleaned up everywhere,

I even washed all the stairs,

and I opened all the windows.

 

Someone will come,

Someone is coming,

Someone who walks with me,

Someone who is in my heart,

Someone who hears me breathing,

Someone who sees me dreaming of her.

 

I know,

Nobody can catch her.

 

I know,

Nobody can jail her.

 

I feel that she is growing on the other side of the fence,

I feel that she is singing with all the drops of the rain

and  the falling of the leaves.

  

Someone will come,

maybe on the day of the firework show.

 

Someone will come,

and will bring a big bread, butter and cream,

and a hot soup with lots carrots and potatoes.

 

Someone will come,

And she will fairly divide the park, the coke and the soup,

And she will give everybody his share.

 

I know,

She will give my share too.

 

Someone will come,

I had a dream.

 

By: Forough Farokhzad

Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani

 

The poem is from the posthumous anthology Let us believe in the beginning of the Cold Season.