It has been a long time since I have written to you. That is, I have written but not sent them. At this moment, there are two envelopes on my desk on which I have written your address, but I have always thought that I should change my letters and that is why they are still on my desk. I don’t know what can I write to you. I am well. As always, the more ascetic [dervish] one becomes, the easier life is. Now I have accustomed myself not to expect too much of life. I always tell myself, the way it is, it’s good enough. There are many people who are not as fortunate as I am and in this way I do less thinking and more living. Amir is also well. We see each other a lot, and as always, our conversations are about Tehran, the kids, mother, and papa. And this is the only subject that we can talk about for countless days and never tire of it. When we are together, we realize how much we love maman and baba and these kids. How much we always want to have them in our lives and feel their love. I planned to return to Iran at the beginning of the summer, but Amir doesn’t agree and thinks I should stay here with him and return with him. I haven’t thought it out yet, I miss Kami. But on the other hand, I feel that I am not strong yet emotionally. I am not strong and normal yet. If I return there, that hellish life will being again and I am afraid I won’t be able to bear some of the things involved.
You had asked about my work and studies. You know what my goal is in life. It might be a little stupid, but it is only in this that I feel satisfaction and happiness. I want to be a great poet and I love poetry. I have never had any other purpose but this. That is, since I’ve known myself I’ve felt that I love poetry. Whatever I do, I do it to expand my intellectual horizons. I never study for getting a diploma or a degree, but rather, my intention is that by expanding the range of my knowledge, I can pursue what I love, which is writing poetry, and to succeed. In the seven months that I lived in Italy, I learned Italian well. I translated two books of poetry from Italian, and now, with Amir’s help, I am occupied with translating a book from German. I have also translated one and sent it to Tehran to be published, which, of course, will generate some income. In the last ten month living in Europe I have also written a book of poetry that I intend to publish. Poetry is my God. Meaning that I love poetry to this extent. My days and nights are spent in this thought that should write a new, a beautiful poem—not yet written by anyone. The day that I am alone and have not thought about poetry is considered among my wasted days. Perhaps outwardly poetry can not make me happy, but I have a different meaning for happiness. For me happiness is not good food, clothes or a good life. I am happy when my soul is content and poetry satisfies my soul, whereas if I have all these good things that people kill themselves for and am deprived of writing poetry, I will kill myself. You forget about me, let me be unlucky and always wandering in the eyes of others, but by God, and by the life of my child, I love you dearly. When I think about you, my eyes fill with tears. Sometimes I wonder why God has created me in this way and has put this devil of poetry inside me so that I cannot make you happy and content. But it is not my fault I cannot tolerate an ordinary life like those of millions of people. I don’t want to marry. I want to succeed in life and to be an outstanding woman in the society. I don’t think you disagree with this.
Write to me , because I love your letters. I want to buy and send something good for you, but I don’t know what you like? I have saved some money and want for the first time to buy a gift for my own daddy. But you have to tell me what you like.