One Like No Other
Someone's coming, .I dreamed
dreaming of a red star
And now there's a flutter in my eyelids
and my feet are out the door
And if I'm lying
may I be struck blind
I dreamt of that red star
wide awake
Someone's coming
Someone's coming
Someone else
Someone better
Someone like no other, not like Father, not like any man,
not like Yahya, not like Mother
But just like the one he should be
Even taller than the trees at the architect's house
And his face
is even brighter than the face of the Imam of the Age
He's not even scared of Seyd Javad's brother
who's gone
and put on a cop's uniform –
not even scared of Seyd Javad himself, who's the landlord
of all the rooms in our house .
And his name as Mother calls him
at the beginning and at the end of her prayers –
is either judge of judges
or Grantor of Wishes
And
he can
read
all the hard words in the third grade reader
with
his eyes closed
And
he can even
subtract
one thousand from twenty millions and not come out short
And
he can buy whatever he likes on account at Seyd Javad's store
And
can make the neon ALLAH
that
used to be green, green like the early morning
light
up again in the sky
on
top of Meftahiyan Mosque
Oooh
. . .
The
light's so nice
The
lights so nice
And
how I wish
Yahya
could
have a cart
and
a propane lantern
And
how I'd like
to
sit on Yahya's cart amongst the cantaloups and watermelons
and
ride round Mohammadiyye Square
Oooh
. .
What
fun riding round the Square
What
fun sleeping on the roof
What
fun going to City Park
How
great the taste of Pepsi is
How
great the Fardin Movie is
And
how I love wonderful things
And
how I wish
I
could yank Seyd Javad's daughter's braid
Why
am I so small
I
lose my way in the streets
Why
doesnt Father ‑ who's not so small
and
doesnt lose his way in the streets –
do
something to make the one who's appeared in my dream hurry
the
day of his coming
And
why dont the folks in the slaughterhouse district
whose
gardens' dirt is all bloodsoaked
and
whose pools' water is all bloodsoaked
and
the soles of whose shoes are all bloodsoaked –
why
dont they do anything
why
dont they do anything
The
winter sun's so lazy
I've
swept the steps to the roof
I've
washed the windowpanes too
Why
does Father only
dream
when he sleeps
I've
swept the steps to the roof
And
I've washed the windowpanes too
Someone's
coming
Someone's
coming
Someone
whose heart is with us, whose breath is with us,
whose
voice is with us
Someone
who can't be arrested
and
handcuffed and thrown in jail
when
he comes
Someone
who's had babies under Yahya's old trees
and
is growing bigger and bigger
day
by day
Someone
in the rain, in the rain's dripdrop, in the midst
of
the petunias' whisperings
Someone's
coming out of the sky over Artillery Square
on
the night of the fireworks
And
he'll spread the tablecloth
and
divide the bread
and
pour the Pepsi round
and
distribute City Park
and
distribute the whooping cough syrup
and
distribute Enrollment Day
and
distribute hospital numbers
and
distribute galoshes
and
distribute the Fardin Movie
distributing
Seyd Javad's daughter's trees
and
distributing every bloated thing
and
giving us our portion too
I dreamed . . . .
Forugh Farrokhzad, Bride of Acacias: Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad, Jascha Kessler trans. with Amin Banani (Delmar, NY: Caravan Books, 1982)