Four years later, in order to regain her freedom to be an artist, she divorces from Parviz leaving their son with him. She becomes one of the most important contemporary poets, directors and independent Iranian women.

In her lifetime she published four books of poetry and directed an internationally awarded documentary about a lepers colony – The House Is Black. In the meantime she suffered from a breakdown, went to a mental hospital and, later on, traveled across Europe where she fell in love again.

Famous Italian director Bernardo Bertolucci visited Iran only to do an interview with Forough. One minute of the interview: 

On her way back from lunch, after the best conversation she had ever had with her mother, Forough Farrokhzad died in a car accident at the age of 32.

This is one of her poems:

The Wind-Up Doll

More than this, yes
more than this one can stay silent.

With a fixed gaze
like that of the dead
one can stare for long hours
at the smoke rising from a cigarette
at the shape of a cup
at a faded flower on the rug
at a fading slogan on the wall.

One can draw back the drapes
with wrinkled fingers and watch
rain falling heavy in the alley
a child standing in a doorway
holding colorful kites
a rickety cart leaving the deserted square
in a noisy rush

One can stand motionless
by the drapes—blind, deaf.

One can cry out
with a voice quite false, quite remote
"I love..."
in a man's domineering arms
one can be a healthy, beautiful female

With a body like a leather tablecloth
with two large and hard breasts,
in bed with a drunk, a madman, a tramp
one can stain the innocence of love.

One can degrade with guile
all the deep mysteries
one can keep on figuring out crossword puzzles
happily discover the inane answers
inane answers, yes—of five or six letters.

With bent head, one can
kneel a lifetime before the cold gilded grill of a tomb
one can find God in a nameless grave
one can trade one's faith for a worthless coin
one can mold in the corner of a mosque
like an ancient reciter of pilgrim's prayers.
one can be constant, like zero
whether adding, subtracting, or multiplying.
one can think of your --even your—eyes
in their cocoon of anger
as lusterless holes in a time-worn shoe.
one can dry up in one's basin, like water.

With shame one can hide the beauty of a moment's togetherness
at the bottom of a chest
like an old, funny looking snapshot,
in a day's empty frame one can display
the picture of an execution, a crucifixion, or a martyrdom,
One can cover the crake in the wall with a mask
one can cope with images more hollow than these.

One can be like a wind-up doll
and look at the world with eyes of glass,
one can lie for years in lace and tinsel
a body stuffed with straw
inside a felt-lined box,
at every lustful touch
for no reason at all
one can give out a cry
"Ah, so happy am I!"'

In September 2013, using the Travel House in Granada as the starting point, we got on a ferry and crossed into Africa, to travel around Morocco, Western Sahara, Mauritania and Senegal. The trip lasted for three weeks and was very exhausting, partly for the heat, partly due to the bad and, as we ventured deeper into the Sahara, non-existent roads. Using a small pocket camera we recorded a lot of video-materials, most of which turned out to be completely useless: random, unrelated shots, coincidental conversations, eye-catching sights without any potential to combine into a coherent story.

We then chose one conversation and tried to make it into a short documentary, but we soon parted ways and the project was forgotten. It was completed almost five years later.

The context is deliberately omitted. A desert and an ocean, the Spanish language and Islam, a ship cemetery, together form a confusing, disorientating little window into a life that takes place on the landfill of civilization, which could be located anywhere. There is a lot more that is missing: the smells of  the ocean, corrosion and rot, large putrefied sea creatures scattered on the sand, Bible and Quran on a bedside table, our host's sincere anger at our offer to pay for his fuel for giving us a ride back to town, a memory card with music (which?) that we left him as a gift, our excitement and the feeling of being immersed in life.

The film is available in full HD.

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More info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_Sahara
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nouadhibou