I could be your anchor but I'm holding someone else
You think you know me through and through but I don't know myself
And the image that you hold of me
Is only through the lens of what I see
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Inspired By Neda
"Neda, please," I begged her, but she would have none of it.
"I'm going out there."
"Please, Neda, the Baseej are out there too! They are looking for an excuse-"
"So we should let them? We should sit back while they shoot our brothers and sisters for peaceful assembly? No." Her eyes glinted dangerously. "We are Iran, and we must show them."
"Show who, show them what?"
"We will show the President. We will show the Supreme Leader. We will show them we cannot be ignored. We are not a small number of dissidents- we are a movement, a wave that cannot be stopped until it crashes upon the rocks."
I frowned. "Getting yourself killed won't mean anything."
Little did I know, it would mean everything.
Neda did go out that day, and the Baseej were out there. Neda wasn't even with the protestors, just watching. But one of the bastards got their shot... and she was in the crosshairs, Allah knows why. By now you have seen the video of my Neda, eyes glassy and without her firery glint, the contents of her veins pumped into the street. Her eyes rolling, lips red with her own lifeblood, oblivious to Rasheed's calls.
"Stay with me, Neda!"
In a way, Neda did stay with us. Her sweet red lips parted for breath the final time that day, lying in that street surrounded by her frightened friends. But she lives on, a rally for those she hoped to encourage by her presence. They cry, marching through the streets of Tehran in defiance, "Remember Neda!"
How could I forget?
"I'm going out there."
"Please, Neda, the Baseej are out there too! They are looking for an excuse-"
"So we should let them? We should sit back while they shoot our brothers and sisters for peaceful assembly? No." Her eyes glinted dangerously. "We are Iran, and we must show them."
"Show who, show them what?"
"We will show the President. We will show the Supreme Leader. We will show them we cannot be ignored. We are not a small number of dissidents- we are a movement, a wave that cannot be stopped until it crashes upon the rocks."
I frowned. "Getting yourself killed won't mean anything."
Little did I know, it would mean everything.
Neda did go out that day, and the Baseej were out there. Neda wasn't even with the protestors, just watching. But one of the bastards got their shot... and she was in the crosshairs, Allah knows why. By now you have seen the video of my Neda, eyes glassy and without her firery glint, the contents of her veins pumped into the street. Her eyes rolling, lips red with her own lifeblood, oblivious to Rasheed's calls.
"Stay with me, Neda!"
In a way, Neda did stay with us. Her sweet red lips parted for breath the final time that day, lying in that street surrounded by her frightened friends. But she lives on, a rally for those she hoped to encourage by her presence. They cry, marching through the streets of Tehran in defiance, "Remember Neda!"
How could I forget?
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