Father, I saw you last night In a twilight dream you strolled through the streets of Shiraz, followed by a fluttering butterfly Passed the mosques and minarets, turquoise blue and blood red The cypress trees and poets' beds wept for you - and their tears dropped like pomegranate seeds on the dry desert sand.
Father, I saw you yesterday In a dusk-lit dream you walked through the streets of Baltimore, followed by a fluttering butterfly Passed the Hopkins dome and Ravens' home, steamed crab orange and Oriole black The patients in hospital beds cried to you - and their tears fell flat on the soft O.C. sand.
Dear friend, Baba, Aman, Vafa We see you every day in an azalea's bloom You live on in each grandchild's heart You give our lives hope In the early spring sun and the late autumn moon, you breathe again In your Akhtar's sweet smile, in Taraneh's kind style, your heart beats again.
Father, I felt you last night In a deep, dark dream you spoke to me and with an angel's hands, dried my tears for me Then hugged me with great joy, and I read you this poem - To my father From his boy.